


for the sake of saving us

by garden



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Girl Band, Graduate School, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character, Unrequited Love, everybody's queer and the points don't matter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garden/pseuds/garden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John just wanted to finish med school and be a doctor. There wasn't supposed to be anything special about this year. Then Mulligan and Lafayette move out (out of the apartment, out of New York, out of his <i>life</i>),  John is forced to room with Alexander, John starts having weird feelings about Alexander, and John's father starts emailing him again, which only makes everything a whole lot worse. Throw in an irritating academic rival, eccentric neighbors, and a local punk band, and John's not so sure he's going to make through this year alive.</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>There are a lot of changes in John's life and he doesn't deal with it all that well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> (Tags will be updated as story progresses.)
> 
> This thing is basically going to be one part domestic au, one part college grad school au, and two parts unrequited love. It's probably going to be unreasonably long. Wish me luck! :^)

When Alexander first suggested he and John move in together, John laughed so hard that cereal milk came out of his nose. Alexander had stated it so casually, John wasn't sure he had heard him right. What he was sure of however, was that milk shooting out of his nose was painful enough to make him lose his appetite.

"What?" John asked as he wiped off his face with the hem of his oversized t-shirt. He adjusted the collar so it wasn't hanging off his shoulder as he stared at Alexander sitting across the small, circular table. His nose still stung.

Lafayette, who was sitting between John and Alexander, moved the fashion magazine he had been reading away from the mess and handed John a napkin with a look of mild disgust. John accepted the napkin, but kept his eyes on Alexander. Surely John had heard him wrong. He could come up with a list of top three reasons why the suggestion was a bad idea. Judging by Lafayette's raised eyebrows and pursed lips, John was sure Lafayette felt the same. Or maybe he was still grossed out by the milk thing.

Alexander didn't look up with a grin and say he was kidding. He didn't do that obnoxious laugh of his where he threw his head back and slapped his knee while mocking John and calling him gullible. Alexander simply continued to stare at the half-finished crossword puzzle he had been filling out on Lafayette's tablet, the columns, rows, and words beaming up from the glossy screen.

"Let's move in together," Alexander said again.

What got John was that he said it like it was an obvious suggestion. Like it hadn't come out of left field, out of nowhere. John dropped his spoon in his cereal bowl and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He glanced at Lafayette, who shrugged animatedly. Whatever Alexander was concocting, he had clearly not run it past any of his friends first.

"Um, no?" John said, turning his attention back to Alexander, "We've never lived together before and honestly, I don't think you thought this through."

Alexander filled in a row in his crossword, his finger gliding across the screen. "Okay, except four years is a pretty long time to know someone and I'd rather live with you than some weirdo stranger. We're like best friends, John."

John pursed his lips. Alexander had him there. Second only to Hercules and Lafayette, Alexander was one of the oldest and closet friends John had made since he moved from the rolling plains of South Carolina to the bustling New York cityscape years ago. The two of them were attached at the hip more often than not.

"Alright, I'll give you that," John drummed his fingers on the table a few times as he tried to form his thoughts into words, "but my point about us never living together still stands. Cohabitation can ruin friendships, man."

Alexander didn't miss a beat, quick to counterpoint as always. "You moved in with Mulligan and Lafayette after knowing them for only two years. You've been living together for five, nearly six, years and your friendship hasn't suffered." He filled in another column of the crossword puzzle. "This isn't all that different if you think about it. Which I have."

"He has a point," Lafayette said with a nod. He disregarded John's quick glare and leisurely sipped on his cup of café au lait.

John chose to ignore Lafayette and tried to talk some sense into Alexander. "That's different, though. Being paired up as roommates in a dorm isn't the same thing, Alex. Herc and I were roomies freshman year first, then Laf and I roomed the year after that, _then_ we moved in together—"

"And have lived happily ever after. Yeah, I know." Alexander was still looking down at the tablet, but he wasn't focused on it anymore. His index finger tapped out a rapid beat on the table. "But do our four years of friendship really mean nothing to you?"

Pandering to John's soft heart was how Alexander won eighty percent of their arguments. Granted, their arguments were few and far between, but when they did disagree, John would inevitably get too caught up in his feelings and give in. It wasn't that he was too emotional to hold his own in a debate, Alexander was simply adept at prodding just the right tender spot to make him fold. Pitted against almost any other person on the planet, John could hold his own and refuse to waver, but with Alexander it was different. It was frustrating. John knew he was being played, but he felt a tinge of guilt for the briefest of moments anyway.

Lafayette clicked his tongue. He flipped a glossy page of the _Vogue_ magazine that no doubt belonged to Hercules and took another sip of coffee. Not bothering to look up from the page, he said, "Oh, now look what you've done, John. You've hurt his feelings."

John contemplated kicking Lafayette under the table. Alexander did not need backup when it came to these sort of things. "It just doesn't seem like a good idea," John said. He was determined to stick to his guns this time.

Alexander finally looked up, the ferocity in his eyes gleaming with a determination John was all too familiar with. "But us living together makes _sense_ , John. We're both broke, we're both going to be living in the city, Aaron wants to move in with his girlfriend this year so I'm currently roommate-less, and your guys' lease is up in a few weeks anyway." He reached across the small table and pulled John's abandoned cereal bowl closer to him. He started eating the soggy Froot Loops, spewing rainbow crumbs across the table when he spoke. "Not to mention I get along with you better than I get along with anybody else we know."

"That is true," Lafayette said. He placed his mug down and rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the table. He looked at John with an expression that bordered between faux and genuine concession, like he was pleasantly surprised by the argument Alexander had laid out. "He has raised many points, John. And very good ones, I might add."

John squinted at Lafayette. Was he being serious right now? Lafayette had a way of sounding sarcastic and sincere at the same time and John never could figure out whether or not it was intentional. Hercules had once posited that it was an unintended byproduct of his accent. Regardless, John was not as amused about Alexander's proposal as Lafayette was, that was for certain. Exasperated, John asked, "Why are you encouraging him?"

Lafayette raised an eyebrow. "Am I?"

He knew damn well what he was doing and John would have challenged him on it if he wasn't so sure that Lafayette would dance around the accusation with an envious amount of verbal grace. They were right though. John knew Alexander and Lafayette were both right, but he wasn't going to let Alexander know that. Neither Hercules nor Lafayette would be in New York come the fall, leaving John stuck in Manhattan without roommates to split expenses with. Alexander was starting his first year at Columbia Law in August and, while he wasn't living in university housing this year, he would likely be living near Morningside Heights. If they pooled their funds together, they might even be able to find a place before the month was up.

John pretended not to hear Lafayette's betrayal or Alexander's suggestion and stood up from the table. The oversized Disneyland t-shirt he wore to bed fell about midway on his thighs, the hem of his checkered boxers peeking out from beneath. He had borrowed the shirt from Hercules months ago and never got around to giving it back. At this point, the fabric had been worn in just right that he had no intention of ever returning it. John pushed in his chair. He gave Alexander a level stare.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for your first day of school or something? Don't you have another internship to apply for?" Alexander hated being brushed off, hated being ignored, so John pretended not to notice him frowning while he slowly chewed his—John's—cereal. He headed across the loft and towards the bathroom. "I'm gonna shower so I can head to work in an hour. I know Lafayette said you could stay here as long as you want but..."

"But what? Don't you love me?" Alexander feigned offence, but John rolled his eyes, not even bothering to turn around. He wasn't going to engage; he was pretending to ignore Alexander after all. It didn't matter whether John chose to participate or not because Alexander continued without a response from him anyway. John knew, without even looking, that Alexander was waving his spoon in the same way he waved his pen around when accenting a particular point for one of this papers or speeches. "No, that can't be right. Of course you love me. Which is convenient because I love you too."

John paused. He shot a look over his shoulder. Alexander's eyes, bright and sharp and biting, locked onto his and a small smile played at the corner of his lips. It was the same look Alexander had whenever he was goading someone into a fight. John sighed and turned back around.

"Go home, Alex. Lafayette will talk to you later and I'm sure Aaron misses you and your bullshit."

" _Pardon_?" Lafayette sounded genuinely affronted and that made John smile. "Do not speak for me as though I am not here, Jack."

"Boooo!" Alexander was also displeased and made his annoyance known. "I profess my love to you and you wanna talk about Aaron Burr? That's low, John."

The tiles on the bathroom floor were cold and the chill seeped through John's socks as he stepped into the bathroom and began to close the door behind him. "Go home, Alexander."

\---

John assumed that would be the last he heard of Alexander's suggestion of living together. He should have remembered what they said about making assumptions. He should have realized that Lafayette would tell Hercules. He should have known Lafayette and Hercules would team up and ambush him at brunch the following Sunday.

"I'm just saying it's a good idea, John. You're gonna be on your own this year while I'm in California for my apprenticeship and Laf's off doing...whatever." Hercules turned to Lafayette, who was idly sipping a mimosa. "What is it you're doing again?"

Lafayette took his sweet time savoring his drink. He placed the glass delicately on the table before answering. "Living life, _mon cher_. I am simply enjoying the life I have been given and living it to the fullest—"

"Aren't you going back to France to visit your family?" John said. He remembered when Lafayette had told him he was leaving the country for Lord knew how long. He remembered realizing that he was going to be left without his two best friends for the first time in six years.

Lafayette scoffed, placing an indignant hand on his chest. Hercules started laughing. "There it is! I knew it was something simple under all the flowery bullshit."

John tried to be civil and not laugh at Lafayette's dramatics. "Did you ever figure out how long you're staying? I know Herc is probably never coming back because he's gonna fall in love with California and abandon us forever."

Hercules's laughter faded and a look of hurt crossed his face. "Hey, not true. This gig lasts until December. Maybe I'll stay in Cali, maybe I'll come back eastside." He raised his hands in the air, gesturing to the city around them. "New York is my home now after all. Don't go off and make me feel all guilty and shit." He dropped his hands to the table with a clatter and, honestly, he was too big a man to be pouting.

It worked though, and John felt guilty. He immediately set about apologizing, placing a hand on Hercules's forearm. "I'm just pulling your leg, Herc. You know I'm proud of you."

"We both are," Lafayette added. "You are going to rock the fashion industry, we know it."

"And then we'll be able to say 'we knew him when'." John gave Hercules a gentle shake before withdrawing his hand. "So, like, hurry up and be famous already."

Hercules grinned and ruffled John's hair. John grunted in protest as the already unruly curls were disturbed by his heavy hand. When Hercules was done, John shot him a sour look and pulled his hair out of its ponytail. He was smoothing it down as best he could, sweeping it back up into the rubber band, when Lafayette spoke up.

"But to answer your question, John, I shall return by the end of the year." Lafayette plucked a grape from the half empty fruit bowl in the middle of the table. "If I have time, I might be able to visit before then."

Hercules visibly perked up. "Bring us something really good back, yeah?" He said. "Like escargot or some shit."

"Ooh!" John said as he gave his newly reconstructed ponytail a decisive tug. "Get us some crepes too!"

Offended, Lafayette took another grape from the bowl. "Why do the two of you always request food when I return home? I am not your waiter. I haven't waited tables since we were juniors in undergrad."

Hercules reached across the table and patted Lafayette's cheek. Lafayette swatted his hand away, completely content with looking dour and put out without Hercules mocking him, thank you. Hercules laughed and tried again, only to have his hand knocked away once more.

John watched the pair fool around for a moment. The three of them had been through a lot together over the years. They had scores of stories and a myriad of memories and John was certain they had more on the horizon, but until then, John was allowed to feel a little left behind.

"Honestly, I'm gonna miss y'all next year."

Hercules and Lafayette stopped their game and looked at John.

"It's not like we're splitting up forever, man. We're just—"

"I know," John cut Hercules off. "But we've known each other since we were eighteen. We graduated together, walked together, and you even helped me study for the MCAT." John stared down at his plate. His grits were bland and his eggs had been runny. The brunch was rarely good at this place, but they had been eating here for years now. "I wouldn't be starting my second year of med school without you two, so it's going to be weird not waking up to your ugly mugs in the morning."

Lafayette placed his hand on top of John's, his expression skeptical. "So you are really going to miss sharing a loft with two other people? _Vraiment_?"

John laughed. "Lord, no. I'll miss splitting the rent and bills at least."

"Which is why," Lafayette started as he rubbed his thumb in small circles across the back of John's hand, "I believe Alexander's suggestion is so sensible."

"Also you get really weird if you're left on your own for too long," Hercules said with a smirk.

John ignored the reference to the time that he had been left alone in the apartment for Spring Break a couple of years ago. Hercules and Lafayette had returned home and John was sitting in the dark watching the _Gilmore Girls_ series finale and eating chocolate syrup straight from the bottle. That was the least vexing thing he had done that week, but it summed up the whole break pretty well.

John shrugged, "Yeah, I guess, but is it really such a sensible idea? Can I really trust him to be smart with his money when he sends his deadbeat dad a check every few months?"

Hercules picked up his coffee mug and gave John a stern look. "Be nice."

"You know," Lafayette reclined in his chair. "Perhaps this arrangement means that the two of you can finally do something about all that tension between you."

Hercules laughed into his cup. His deep voice somehow sounded deeper from within the confines of the ceramic mug. "Here we go."

John rolled his eyes. "Not this again."

Lafayette continued without batting an eye. "I am only suggesting that the two of you would be cute together and that—"

"I know what you're suggesting, Laf. And I'm suggesting you drop it and save your matchmaking for someone who actually asks for it. I'm not—" John paused. He never could figure out the best way to conclude that thought whether it was being spoken aloud or rattling around in his head. He settled for, "Interested. We're friends. That's it." He decided to turn the conversation back on Lafayette. "Besides, I already promised you you'd get first dibs if I ever turned out to be not straight or—how did you put it?—'wanted to experiment'. Remember?"

"Our freshman year pact. I remember." Lafayette's voice was coated in a saccharine sentimentality, but there was something sharp cutting just beneath it.

Hercules put down his mug and crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh man, that brings back memories. Teen me dragging teen John to a GSA meeting because I wanted him to meet teen Lafayette."

"Because you totally had a crush on him," John said.

"I did not have a crush on him," Hercules said before looking at Lafayette. "I did not have a crush on you."

Lafayette ran his finger around the rim of his glass and smiled at Hercules. "You had a crush on me."

John had been eighteen and in New York for all of a week the day Hercules nearly kicked down the door of their dorm room and asked him if he liked free pizza. Classes had just started, making friends was intimidating, and John had been more than a little homesick, so when he said yes, free food was the best kind of food, Hercules grabbed him by the arm and dragged him halfway across campus. The first time John had met Lafayette, John had a mouth full of pepperoni pizza and grease dripping down his arms while Hercules tied a rainbow ribbon in his hair.

Hercules thought about it for a bit. He shrugged. "Alright, so maybe I did." He leaned further back in his chair, balancing on the back legs. "God, remember how John accidentally became the official scribe for GSA because no one else wanted to do it? We had some good times that year. But then you quit because—what was it again?"

"His father found out and convinced him to," Lafayette said matter-of-factly.

Hercules leaned forward so all four legs of the chair were on the ground again. The metal hit the pavement with a thud. "Right," Hercules said.

"I didn't quit because of my dad." John picked up his fork. He wasn't hungry anymore, but he pushed the remaining food around on his plate anyway. "I'd switched majors without telling either of my parents at that point and my course load was getting worse and the club stuff interfered with that." This was a conversation they had had several times before, so John didn’t know why he felt a need to defend himself from an unspoken accusation. He prodded at his eggs. "Besides, there are a ton of straight kids who join GSA."

"Look," Hercules said and John had a feeling he had just ruined whatever comfortable mood they had had going for them, "You don't have to give us the same speech you gave your dad. We know. We've talked about this already. We know."

John stabbed a lump of eggs with his fork and watched it slide off the tines and land on his plate with a wet plop. "Yeah, well, two of my closest friends are leaving me, so sorry for being weirdly sensitive today."

Hercules rolled his eyes. "Oh, so you're just gonna be in peak brat mode then?"

"Are you going to be like this the whole time we are gone?" Lafayette looked worried.

John felt kind of bad. He put down his fork. "Nah, I'll chill out eventually. I'll be okay. Really." He gave them a warm smile. "And if it makes you feel better, then fine. I'll talk to Alexander about living together. If it works out, great. If it doesn't, I'm running away to live with one of y'all."

John pretended he didn't see the look Hercules and Lafayette shared across the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha remember that time i stopped writing for a year and then decided to do a long, slow burn fic for a musical featuring the founding fathers?


	2. The Move-In, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alexander buy a couch.

 

_"I'm glad to finally hear from you; I was beginning to think I would have to email you first myself! You'll be happy to hear that your tuition has already been paid for the semester. Considering I'm paying for your tuition, you'd think you would contact your own father more often._

_Anyway, I'm surprised you didn't choose to live alone when your previous roommates moved out. To be fair, I don't know much about the cost of living up north. Maybe if you were studying law like we had previously agreed, I would be paying for your lodging and living expenses in addition to your tuition and you wouldn't have to deal with so many roommates._

_Good luck with your studies this semester, don't disappoint your mother, you know how much faith she had in you, and I'll send you a follow up email detailing my thoughts on your current arrangement at a later date._

_(Even though I wish you'd consulted me before making this decision and even if I can't quite remember which one of your friends goes by "Alexander", I'm sure he'll be a decent roommate for the upcoming year.)"_

_-Henry Laurens, email, August 10, 2015_

 

It was a warm August morning when Alexander burst into John's room without so much as a knock. John nearly fell out of his bed because, like most people who didn't have to be anywhere before five a.m., he was sleeping. Alexander ignored the wild look in John's eyes as he tried to gain his bearings.

"We need furniture."

This was the third time this week Alexander had barreled into John's room without warning. They had only been living together for twelve days. One of the main highlights of choosing a place with actual bedrooms back when he and Alexander were apartment shopping (an excursion that should have been a red flag in retrospect) was that they would have more privacy. At least that had been John's assumption.

Alexander, apparently, viewed doors as an inconvenient way to announce his inevitable arrival. Before John and Alexander had moved in together, Alexander, much like a stray cat, would meander in and out of John, Hercules, and Lafayette's apartment. Boundaries meant little to him and now John was forced to deal with his bedroom door being knock off its hinges whenever a stray thought struck Alexander. Which was often. John wondered if Alexander had slept a full night in his life. John also wondered if Alexander's brain ever stopped running at Mach speed.

John groaned as he untangled himself from his sheets. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "God, do you ever knock?"

"John. Focus. We need furniture," Alexander telling John that he needed to focus? That was rich. That was peak irony and John would have laughed if he weren't so damn tired. "We have beds and the TV and kitchen table from your old place, but we need a couch."

John watched Alexander pace around his bedroom for a bit. This was way too much energy for this early in the morning. "Yeah, I know," John said after some time. "I found somebody selling one on craigslist. I was going to suggest we go check it out this weekend."

Alexander stopped pacing. "Oh. Okay." The expression on his face suggested that he wanted to say something else. This expression honestly wasn't all that different from his default expression because Alexander always had something to say.

And yet John still chose to take the bait. "Something wrong?"

Alexander chewed on his bottom lip. He was trying to be diplomatic. "No, it's just," he crossed his arms and John saw the diplomacy go out the window. "Craigslist? Really?"

Craigslist was a perfectly fine place to find used furniture, but John was not going to argue the finer parts of thrifting to Alexander. "Look, do you have a better idea? I figured you could ask Burr if we can borrow his truck. We really don't have a choice now do we?"

"No. Guess not." Alexander looked up at the ceiling, running the not so difficult concept over in his head. "That works. Good idea."

"Great. Glad we had this talk." John wanted to go back to sleep. This conversation was bordering on pointless.

A notification pinged on Alexander's phone. He pulled it out of the pocket of his hoodie—the one he refused to throw away even though it had a broken zipper—and swiped the screen without so much as a glance. Satisfied with their talk, Alexander nodded and left the room. His footsteps faded as he crossed the living room to return to his own bed. John waited a beat before calling after him.

"Alexander."

The padding of Alexander's bare feet on the floor paused then started up again. He popped his head in through the doorway. His hair was a wild, wispy mess framing his face. "Yeah?"

"Close my door," John said.

"Oh. Right." Alexander pulled the door shut with a sheepish smile.

John fell back into bed and pulled his sheets up over his head with a groan. Maybe this arrangement wasn't such a great idea after all. Some friendships were destroyed by living together. John was pretty sure his relationship with Alexander would be one of them. That is, if he didn't strangle Alexander first.

In his head, John heard Hercules' voice telling him to play nice. John huffed and his blanket fluttered around his face. That was easier said than done. John was a patient person—not as patient as Hercules; he had yet to meet another person who was—but it was only now that John felt sympathetic towards Alexander's previous roommate, Aaron Burr. Yes, Aaron had a chilly personality, and yes, Alexander had an easily excitable personality, but John was beginning to realize how miraculous it was that Alexander and Aaron had lived together for one year let alone five.

(John had once asked Aaron how they had ended up living together for so long. Aaron stated that he was cursed. John laughed, assuming that he was joking, but Aaron's face was so somber that John's laughter died down to a nervous chuckle as he patted Aaron's shoulder reassuringly.)

John threw the sheets off his face and stared at his ceiling. Screw this. Looked like he was done sleeping for the day. He shoved his hand under his pillow and felt around for his phone. Once he found it, he unlocked the screen, hit the message icon, and shot a quick text to Lafayette. If his math was correct, Paris was six hours ahead of New York and Lafayette would already be up. 

After a moment of deliberation, John decided to copy, paste, and send the text to Hercules too. It was probably two in the morning in California and Hercules was probably asleep, but John felt that as many people should hear about his suffering at the moment as possible. He needed support in this trying time.

John got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. After a quick piss, he set about getting ready for the day. His morning shower went a bit awry when he got shampoo in his eyes while washing his hair and knocked over every bottle that was precariously perched on the edge of the tub. Once John survived that ordeal, he got out of the shower, toweled off his hair and his body, and wrapped his towel around his waist. It was while he was brushing his teeth when he received a reply from Lafayette.

John snorted at the response, almost choking on his toothbrush. Wow, was that was the pot calling the kettle over the top. John took a moment to choose the precise disgruntled emoji that conveyed his opinion of that particular nugget of advice before he finished brushing his teeth. He was washing his face when his phone pinged again with a response from Hercules. John wondered if he and Lafayette were on the same wavelength—or something equally paranormal—or whether Hercules just happened to be up at two thirty in the morning. John read the reply. It seemed Hercules was about as helpful as Lafayette this morning. 

John pulled a face. He didn't think that was funny. Before he had a chance to send an indignant reply, his phone buzzed again and Hercules' follow up text popped up in the thread.

John didn't want to admit it, but Hercules had a point. He knew living with Alexander wasn't going to be a walk in the park the moment Alexander had first suggested it. But like Alexander had been quick to point out himself, he got along with John better than anybody else. That included Aaron. And if John—and Lafayette and Hercules, by extension—weren't there for Alexander, who else would be?

The bathroom door swung open and John's heart shot up into his throat.

"Okay," Alexander said as he sailed into the bathroom like that was where he belonged, "it's not that I'm completely against the craigslist route, 'cause I'm not, but I think I have a counter offer you should consider."

"Christ on a bike, Alexander!" John clutched his chest and he swore for a moment that he had seen Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates. Upon catching his breath, John immediately started fussing because they had literally had this conversation not even an hour ago. "Did no one ever teach you how to knock?! Because I swear to God—"

Alexander grimaced and put up his hands. "I forgot. My bad." He broke eye contact with John long enough to give him a once over. He tilted his head and crossed his arms. "You know, I always forget that your freckles are, like, a full body thing. We haven't gone swimming together in a while."

John was also a full body blusher, which Alexander got a first-hand experience of, front row center and everything, before John shoved him out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

"So is that a 'no' on the possibility of a counter offer?" Alexander asked through the closed door.

John buried his face in his hands. They had signed a yearlong lease. They still eleven months to go. These were going to be the longest eleven months of John's life.

\---

Saturday morning, John received an email from his father. When he saw the sender name in his inbox, he took a deep breath and steeled himself before clicking it open. His father's previous emails had always been so uplifting after all.

John skimmed through the first few paragraphs, they were nothing but the same, predictable guilt trip.

_We're sad you couldn't visit us this summer. Your siblings say hi._

Scroll.

_I guess you're too busy living the city life to spend time with your family. Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake taking you kids to New York all those summers ago._

Scroll.

_I hope your decision to pursue medicine has been worth it. These tuition bills are sizable to say the least. While it's not law, I suppose it's a respectable profession._

Scroll.

_I know it's not my business what you do or who you do it with, but I have to wonder about your pattern when it comes to roommates. This coupled with the fact that you don't mention you love life in your emails makes me wonder whether you're trying to tell me something through your actions rather than words_ —

Yikes. Scroll.

_I dreamt about your mother the other night_ —

Scroll. Pause. John frowned. He wouldn't. His father was a pain in the ass, but he wouldn't hit below the belt. John scrolled back up and warily read the rest of the paragraph. He frowned.

"You can't be serious."

"Who can't be serious?" Alexander was sitting in the middle of the floor, eating a bowl of cereal and watching _Parks and Recreation_ on Netflix. It was where they decided the couch would go once they picked it up that afternoon. He looked over at the breakfast nook where John was sitting at the table.

John read over the paragraph again. He had half a mind to slam his laptop shut and refuse to reply. "My dad."

Alexander stood up. His bowl was empty and he had already seen this episode before. "Wait, what's up?"

"It's nothing, he's just being as supportive and caring as he's always been."

Alexander flinched. "Yikes," he said as he rinsed out his bowl. "What'd he say this time?"

John cleared his throat and thickened his Carolinian accent in a perfect imitation of his father.

"I dreamt about your mother last night and it made me think about how she would feel about the turn our relationship has taken. In a way, I'm sure she wouldn't be surprised. You know as well as I do how selfless that woman was, she loved both of us with all she had." John placed a hand over his heart and feigned sincerity as he said a quick 'bless your heart' in that undeniably passive aggressive way Southerners had perfected. Alexander had stopped washing his bowl and was listening intently to John speak. John continued reading. "But I wonder if being forced to be the peacekeeper between us is what led her to such an early death."

"Whoa," Alexander said.

"No, wait, it gets better," John said excitedly, like his heart wasn't racing and his hands weren't clammy. He swallowed and forged on. "Maybe if we hadn't fought so viciously when you switched your major to Biology your sophomore year without telling us, maybe if you hadn't been so adamant about attending medical school when we all knew her health was deteriorating fast—and then he just has a bunch of ellipses and starts on a new paragraph." John scrolled down to the last line. His father's final sentiments before signing the email and sending it off. "I am not one to dwell on the past, John—that's a damn lie and he knows it—but I did find myself dwelling on 'what could have been's this morning."

The water was still running in the sink, but Alexander was staring at him wide-eyed. "Holy shit."

John closed the browser window. He would reply to the email later. He wasn't in the mood to navigate speculation on his sexuality, threats of rescinding financial support, and accusations of causing his late mother's death.

"Yeah."

"But your mom told you go to med school," Alexander said, shutting off the water. "She was basically your biggest cheerleader."

"I know." John stared at the picture of a field of yellow jasmines that was set as his computer's wallpaper. He didn't really want to talk about this.

"And you totally would have gone to her funeral if you could, but—"

"I couldn't waste that hard spent grad school money, could I? Not during my first semester anyway. I know, Alexander. _He_ knows. Or at least he should." There was no way his father knew that John had cried in class no less than four times the month he had heard the news. There was no way that Henry knew what his wife would've thought about the current relationship between him and his oldest son. John closed his laptop. "Whatever. Now are we gonna go pick up this couch or what?"

Alexander perked up. He dried his hands off on the dish towel hanging on the oven door. "Of course! But I should tell you that I only have like 175 bucks to put down on this thing."

John paused putting on his shoes. "What? But I thought you just got paid from that internship you landed."

Alexander's phone, which was sitting next to the sink, pinged. He picked it up and slid it into the pockets of his hoodie. He rocked on his heels. "Well yeah, but my dad needed some cash for—"

John raised a hand and cut him off. "Okay. I got it. Looks like we're gonna have to barter like our lives depend on it today."

Bouncing on his toes, Alexander grinned. His eyes lit up and John knew that they were going to get this couch for cheap whether the seller wanted that or not. "Oh, bartering I can do."

Of course he could. Bartering was a close cousin of arguing and there were few things Alexander was quite as fond of as arguing.

When John pulled up to the address the guy selling the couch had given him, the first thing he noticed were stairs. The seller hadn't specified that he lived in an apartment. In retrospect, John wasn't sure what he was expecting—this was New York.

"What floor does he live on?" Alexander smudged the passenger window with his fingers and face pressed to the glass as he tried to see the top of the building.

"I have no idea."

Alexander looked back at John, confused. "You have no idea?"

John shook his head and cut off the engine. "He didn't tell me. Let's ring the buzzer and see what happens."

Alexander either didn't see a problem with that plan or he chose to trust John and refrained from criticizing him. Whatever the reason, John was grateful.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the truck. "Okay, now when we get this couch, which we will because we kind of don't have a choice at this point, you're not allowed to throw all your shit on top of it."

Alexander frowned. "What?" He closed the passenger side door behind him and John locked the doors.

John walked up the short flight of stairs that led to the building door, Alexander on his heels. There was a speaker attached to the wall of the doorway. "Do you really not notice that you leave stuff everywhere? Our apartment looks like what I imagine the inside of your head looks like."

Alexander mulled this over for a moment. "That's a fair assumption," he conceded with a curt nod.

John pressed the buzzer. A few seconds passed and the door clicked. He and Alexander shared a look. John opened the door and stepped inside.

"This place is weird," was the only thing Alexander could say after staring at the chandelier hanging in a stairwell.

John was inclined to agree. The outside looked like any brick apartment building you would find in any given urban area in America, but the inside looked, for lack of a better word, regal. The floors were white marble and there was a large oil painting of a landscape John didn't recognize hanging on a near wall. It was like someone had gutted the building and filled it with the contents of the Palace of Versailles.

A voice floated down from above.

"Are you lads here for the couch?"

John walked out into the middle of the foyer and looked up. Staring down from about five flights up was a man who John could only assume lived in this ridiculous building. He leaned on the banister with all the leisure of someone who knew the world would wait for him if he asked.

"Yes?" John felt silly yelling back and forth like this. "Are you George Frederick?"

"In the flesh," George said. He swept aside a strand of hair that had freed itself from his carefully styled hairdo. John realized that he had an English accent. "You're welcome to come up."

John looked at Alexander. Alexander looked like he was fighting to keep his composure. It was clear that he thought this dude was a joke. Alexander bowed his head and waved his hand, " _Après vous, Monsieur Laurens_." His French always sounded so different than Lafayette's.

John rolled his eyes and started to climb the stairs. At least the stairway looked normal. The coat of paint was recent, but the wood was soft beneath his fingers and a few of the stairs creaked as they climbed. When they reached the floor where George had been standing (John was right, it was the fifth floor), he was no longer there. One of the doors lining the hallway was open though, so John walked inside.

The room was gorgeous and very...white. The walls were painted a white that was brighter than any apartment wall John had ever seen. The carpet was white. The drapes where white. The vase of orchids decorating the countertop—white marble—was white. Aside from the appliances (silver), the hardwood floor in the kitchen (brown), and the furniture (black), everything John laid his eyes on in the refurbished apartment was a glaring, pristine white.

"Well, there she is," George said with a casual wave. He stood with a hand on his hip. Dressed in dark slim fit jeans and a red sweater, he stood stark against the backdrop of the room. In the middle of the room was a black leather sofa. "The movers will be here to drop off my new one in a bit. I haven't the foggiest how the two of you plan to get this out of here. You're rather scrawny."

Alexander indignantly puffed up his chest. John was starting to realize that he might be a bit over his head with this one.

George stuck out his hand. "Two thousand was our agreed on price, right? Pay up, then. "

John frowned. "Uh. No. You said seven hundred."

George quirked an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Seven hundred. You said it was going to be seven hundred and actually we wanted to talk to you about that because you said you were up for negotiating because you didn't really need it anymore anyway."

George crossed his arms and began to tap his expensive looking black loafers. "Did I _really_?"

"Yes you did, _really_ ," John snapped back, imitating George's accent on the last word. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his emails. He found the conversation he was looking for and began to recite it out loud. "My starting price is $700, but I'm willing to give it away for less at this point. It's garish and clashes with my current décor. If you don't take it, I'm likely to throw it out on the curb."

"Well then, I—"

John showed George the phone. "I'm not making it up, see?"

"Yes, I see," George moved John's hand out of his face with a tinge of irritation. "I've been doing so much redecorating lately I've lost track of who's buying what for what price. Regardless, I want it out of here by three at the latest. That said, I refuse to sell this couch for less than seven hundred. It's worth far more than that and is in excellent condition."

During the course of this conversation, Alexander had meandered over to the couch and was looking it over. He sat down on one of the cushions and bounced lightly.

"Hey, John, come here for a second."

John excused himself, noting how George looked beyond bored by the entire situation, and walked over to Alexander. "What's up, man?"

"I'm trying to figure if this thing is worth as much as he's asking and how the hell we're gonna get it out of here."

"So what's the verdict?"

"Well..." Alexander was trying to find the right words and that was not a good sign.

"We're in over our heads aren't we?"

"I don't think so. It's real leather, so he wasn't lying about that but, get this, it's heavily used. There's no way this is 'like new' condition—I don't know how to be honest, because I think this dude is the only one who lives here—but the cushions are super word down." He bounced a few times to emphasize his claim. He lifted up the cushion to his left and John could see where it looked like someone had taken a knife to the leather. "Some of them are sliced up on one side, but that's nothing flipping them can't solve—do you think he has a cat? He looks like a cat person. Also I think one of the legs is broken or missing? It kind of rocks a bit when you sit down."

"Alexander. The point." As informative as this debriefing was, John needed to know where they stood. They really needed a couch.

"The point is, he doesn't need it and we've had worse couches." Alexander put a hand over his heart. He paused for a moment of silence to honor all the furniture they had endured through the years. John made the sign of the cross. "Besides, he just wants it out of here before the movers get here right?"

"Yeah, by three."

Alexander grabbed John's wrist and checked the time on his phone. "It's one thirty."

John slowly shook his head, smile spreading across his face. He was catching on. "So you want to stall until the movers arrive so he'll be more likely to lower his price? You want to argue with him for an hour and a half?"

Alexander grinned, "I've talked for longer."

The movers were running late. They were two hours into listening to Alexander discuss the finer points of upholstery and the history and ethics of leatherwork when George agreed to talk shop.

"Six hundred," he said. He was leaning against the counter and looked more unenthused than he had when they first arrived.

"Two hundred," Alexander countered without missing a beat or catching his breath. The guy had an impressive lung capacity, that was for certain.

"I think not!" George huffed. "That's akin to robbery."

"Speaking of things that are unjust and akin to robbery: gentrification."

"What? But how could this possibly relate to—"

Alexander held up a hand to cut George off. "Excuse you, but I'm talking right now." He waved his arms around to motion at the living room and neighborhood in general. "I mean, you live in Brooklyn for Christ's sake, so you have clearly seen the effects of gentrification and are probably a huge contributor. I mean really? Buying an old building and refurbishing it so you can live here by yourself? What the fuck, bro?" Alexander wagged a finger in George's direction, "And before you say it, I know what you're thinking: 'But Alexander you live in Manhattan!' One: yeah I know. Two: I'm still broke as shit. Three: I'm not ostentatiously forcing native residents out to build another goddamn vegan cupcake shop. So."

John had made himself comfortable on the couch about an hour ago. He loved watching Alexander work. It was like watching a man being possessed, the way he moved and spoke. It was like watching passion in human form.

"You might want to let him talk. He can get pretty loud when he tries to talk over people."

George strode over from the kitchen and sat down next to John on the couch. "Are you really not willing to pay the six hundred and leave me be?"

John slung his arm around George's shoulders. "Listen. George. Frederick. Freddie. My man. We are broke and desperate. The only way to get us out of your hair is to give us what we want."

"My name is not Freddie."

"Georgie, I'm trying to help you out here. Honestly." John crossed his heart. He was serious. No one could keep up with Alexander. The guy was exhausting. "He won't shut up unless you give in. Trust me."

George whined. Alexander stepped up onto the coffee table and picked up where he left off.

When the movers finally arrived, John and Alexander had whittled the price down to three hundred fifteen dollars. John was satisfied and ready to accept. Alexander was not. He was convinced he could get George to go lower, but, at this point, John was starting to feel as tired as George looked. The group of men who were in charge of delivering furniture were no doubt surprised to find the couch still in the living room. Though they were likely more surprised at the ranting ball of fury pacing in small circles on the coffee table. John tried to explain that he liked to feel tall. George begged them to remove the couch and take it with them.

"Hold up," Alexander said, "You want them to get rid of it for free? Then why not give it to us?!"

"Actually, he would have to pay a removal fee." One of the movers spoke up, holding a clipboard. John felt kind of bad. There was no way he was getting paid enough for this.

Alexander crossed his arms. The top of his head brushed the lights hanging from the ceiling. "So you'd rather pay for them to remove it than have us give you two hundred bucks to take it off your hands? You're literally losing money. That's not a great business strategy."

George threw his hands up in the air. His hair, which had previously been meticulously styled, was now a disheveled mess from George constantly running his hands through it. He stood up from the couch and approached the movers. He looked frantic and wild-eyed. "Honestly at this point, I truly don't care. Take it, throw it out, burn it, I don't care; just get it and _him_ ," George pointed an accusatory finger at Alexander, "Out of here."

The couch barely fit in the back of Aaron Burr's truck. John and Alexander stood on the sidewalk and looked at their new addition to their home. George signed the paperwork the movers handed him and sent them on their way.

Before they piled into the truck and headed back across town, John had to ask. "So you're really just going to give this to us?"

"Honestly, if I never see you two again, it will be too soon."

Alexander put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. For someone who had spent nearly three hours stalling, he didn't look worse for wear. "Thanks for paying for those guys to move it."

"Again, anything to be rid of you." George waved his hand dismissively. He then perked up, seeming to remember something. "Oh, but congratulations. I never did get the chance to tell you before, what with all the bargaining. If that's what you want to call it."

"What?" John paused and looked at George, confused. "Congrats on what? Getting a sweet new couch?"

George chuckled and pinched John's cheek. "No, silly. On your moving in together or your engagement or whatever occasion for which two grown men buy a couch together." Reading John's confused expression, George dropped his hand to his side. He rested his other hand on his hip. "You are together, are you not? I mean, I merely assumed—"

John's frown deepened, "No, we're just—"

"We're not fans of putting our business out there like that." Alexander stepped between John and George and nudged John towards the truck. "Go get in the car, babe."

John would have protested further, but he decided it ultimately wasn't worth it. They had their new piece of furniture and were seconds away from driving off into the horizon with it like some sort of home improvement fairy tale ending. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. Alexander got into the truck cab and waved farewell to George.

"Thanks though! For both the well wishes and the couch. Good luck with your redecorating."

As they drove away from the fancy British oasis in the middle of Dumbo and eased into city traffic, there was a silence. It wasn't tense or heavy, it was just there.

"So," Alexander said after a time, "How are we going to get this up to our place?"

That was a good question, one that John had been wondering himself. They weren't going to have the benefit of an exasperated hipster paying for someone to drag their new couch up three sets of rickety stairs.

"Well, Burr has to come get his truck eventually," John said.

Alexander stared out the car window and watched the scenery crawl by. He drummed his fingers on the middle console. "Maybe we can ask Mr. Washington. He looks fit enough."

John snorted and nearly rear ended the car in front of them. He hit the brakes and shot a quick look at Alexander. "Dude, have you been checking out our super?"

"No," Alexander balked. Then he frowned and focused on fiddling with the window. It rolled up, then down, then up again. "Okay, yeah, but it's totally Lafayette's fault because he was the one who called Washington a DILF."

John stuck out his tongue. "Ugh. Gross."

"You're gross," Alexander said defensively.

"Even if I am, you're grosser." Traffic started moving again and John drove forward a few feet.

"Is grosser even a word?" John shrugged and Alexander took that as a completely legitimate answer. "Not important. But Washington plus Burr plus you and me makes four. You think that’s enough to get this thing up three flights of stairs?"

John tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. God he hated traffic. This was why he stuck to walking and the subway. "God willing I guess, but it's gonna have to be." Alexander nodded in agreement and went back to looking out the window. John's stomach gurgled. "Hey, you wanna grab something to eat before we head back?"

Alexander rolled the window down again. The heavy city air filled the cab of the truck. "Hell yeah, I'm starving. All that talking really took it out of me."

"There's that Lebanese place on the way home. We haven't eaten there in a while."

John felt something warm lay on top of his hand. He looked down to see that Alexander had placed a hand on top of his. John glanced over at the passenger's seat. Alexander had a serious look on his face. "I love you."

Well someone was clearly a fan of the suggestion. John chuckled and turned his attention back to the road. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Hell yes, more like." Alexander withdrew his hand. He ran it through his hair and tried to push it out of his face. "Fuck yes. We haven't been there in years."

The inside of the truck cab mixed with the late summer weather outside, the air thick and hot and heavy. Alexander went back to staring out the window. John wiped his palm on his jeans. The pair discussed what they were in the mood for as they slowly made their way across town, driving along with the rattling of the trunk accenting the comfortable conversation between them.

\---

Being a med student was hard; this was a concept John was already intimately familiar with. Being a medical assistant was also hard. John wasn't sure if he would call it harder—it lacked the hazing and bullying professors—but it was definitely a different vibe from school. He had been working at this particular clinic for a while now, but every day was something different. This particular morning found John taking vitals of a rather vocal patient.

"I'm telling you, something is broken!"

John swallowed down a weary sigh. He scribbled down the patient's blood pressure. There was no doubt it was higher than normal, but that was probably due to the fact that the man hadn't stopped screaming since he first arrived.

"And I'm telling you that the doctor will be in to see you in a bit."

John had already told the patient, a young man who couldn't be any older than John himself, that his arm was most likely not broken considering he could still move it without too much difficulty. John had suggested that it was merely bruised. The patient had called him an idiot. John kept his suggestions to himself after that.

"Don't you get smart with _me_. I demand action! Aid! Satisfaction, recompense, or _something_." His accent was grating on John's nerves and he wondered what he did to deserve being plagued by so many Englishmen this month. First George and now this—John glanced down at his clipboard—Samuel. Not to mention John's favorite classmate to hate: Charles Lee. But John wasn't in his Foundations of Clinical Medicine class right now and he wasn't bargaining for a couch in Dumbo. He was currently dealing with a difficult patient with a possible bone bruise.

"Okay Mr. Seabury, the doctor will be right with you. In the meantime, you can just wait in here. Alone." John back out of the room, a forced smile plastered on his face.

Samuel huffed. "I should think my wait will be brief, then?"

"Of course," John lied. He had no clue where the doctor was, he just knew he had to get out of there as soon as he could. Seabury nodded, satisfied, and John bolted.

When he arrived back at the front desk, one of his coworkers, Nathanael Greene, was leering at him from behind the desk, the receiver of the office phone pressed to his ear. John rolled his eyes as he slipped through the door that led to the other side of the desk. He pumped hand sanitizer into his palm, rubbing his hands together as Nathanael finished up his call.

"Wait, hold on, how do you spell that again? S-c-h-u-y—yeah I got it." Nathanael typed something into the clinic's computer with a few expert keystrokes. "Okay, you're all set. See you tomorrow and have a good day."

Nathanael hung up the phone with a click.

"Shut up," John said.

"I didn't even say anything." Nathanael didn't have to. His smile said everything.

John pulled off his coat, hung it up on a hook on the wall, and plopped down in his chair. "Yeah, but I know what you're thinking." He flipped a few pages of the text book he had been reading before Seabury had stormed in demanding attention. "It's people like that who have me worried about doing this for a living."

"Understandable," Nathanael said as he jotted something down in his own notebook. It looked like he was finally making progress on that senior thesis of his. "I'm glad I'm only in this for the cash, but from a sociological perspective, working here is interesting."

"Wait, I thought you were a Polysci major?"

"Political science and Anthropology double major. Sociology minor."

"Dude, it's no wonder you've been a senior for four years."

"Hey, this is my last year, ok? For real this time. Once I finish my thesis for Anthro, I'm out of there. But enough about me and my useless majors," Nathanael tapped John's book with the end of his pen, "How's your life going Mr. Med School?"

John leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. One of the fluorescent lights had blown out. "School's school. It's whatever, but there is this annoying asshole in my FCM class."

"Okay, that's great and all, but I was talking about your personal life."

"What?"

"Don't think I forgot about the whole 'my besties are moving away and I don't know how to process this' debacle this summer." Nathanael used air quotes with a roll of his eyes. John didn't take offense, he knew he was joking. Nathanael dropped his hands into his lap and looked at John inquisitively. "So? How did that pan out? You get a new roommate?"

"Oh. Yeah," John started. He couldn't remember all of what he had told Nathanael weeks ago. "Well Herc and Laf are gone, but we still text and facetime or whatever. And I moved in with another one of my friends. Alexander? I don't know if I've ever told you about him."

Nathanael scrunched up his face in thought. "Last name?"

"Hamilton."

Nathanael's eyes went wide. He started laughing. "Holy shit! Holy _shit_."

"What?"

Nathanael reached over and squeezed John's shoulder. "I feel. So sorry. For you."

John shook off Nathanael's grip. "What? He's not that bad."

Picking his pen up again, Nathanael raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm sure he's not, but living with him? You're a brave man, John."

A wave of frustration broke over John. Even though he had experienced a considerable amount of irritation at the arrangement, he felt a need to defend Alexander. "He's not that bad!"

Nathanael seemed taken aback by John's reaction. "I didn't say he was," he said softly.

John's heart was racing and he didn't know why. This wasn't the first time he had met someone who was familiar with how much of a pain in the ass Alexander was. The guy was kind of legendary around campus during their undergrad years. John had shut plenty of people down over the years, but for some reason, this felt personal. John felt a need to defend him.

"Well, you're acting like he is," John muttered as he turned back to his book.

Silence draped over the two of them, stifling and heavy. Nathanael stared at John.

"Look," Nathanael said after a minute, "I'm sorry. Honestly the only interaction I've had with him is like two classes we had together a while back. The dude never shut up. Ever. He's a fucking genius sure, but he's kind of a dick."

He had a point there. But John wasn't above being petty in that moment, so he chose not to respond. A new patient, a man, entered the lobby. He seemed kind of small, but that was probably because he was hunched in on himself. He coughed into the crook of his shoulder.

Nathanael, who had glanced at the man when he entered, looked over at John, "You wanna take him, or should I?"

"I've got it. Finish your thesis so you can graduate already." John motioned to the man in the lobby. "I can help you over here. Name?"

The man shuffled up to the desk, wringing his hands. "Madison," he said. He pulled out his wallet and handed his insurance card over to John. "Uh, first name James."

John started filling out the paperwork.

\---

It was four in the morning when John was woken up by Alexander walking in circles and talking to himself in the middle of the living room. John didn't even realize he had fallen asleep on the couch. He had stumbled in after a long day at work and class and laid on the couch for only a minute. Now it was dark outside and the only source of light in the apartment was the flickering television screen. The tv was muted, but Alexander's muttering filled in for the lack of noise.

John sat up. His face had stuck to the couch and his mouth felt fuzzy. He rubbed his tongue over his teeth. Alexander didn't seem to notice. He kept pacing.

"Alex, what are you doing?" John's voice was raspy, coated in sleep.

Alexander stopped pacing, looking up at John in surprise. "Did I wake you? Sorry."

John wiped the side of his face. Had he been drooling? "S'fine. I didn't even know I was asleep."

"Yeah, I asked you if you wanted pizza and you muttered something and then passed out on the couch."

Ooh. Food sounded good right about now. "There still pizza left?" John stood up from the couch and stretched. His joints popped in quick succession.

Alexander was looking at the papers he had splayed across the coffee table. The table had been a gift from one of their neighbors who had moved out. "It's in the fridge," he bent down and started scribbling notes in the margins of one of the sheets, "I'm working on this assignment, but we also have a seminar discussion tomorrow and that means Burr and I are going to go head to head even though the professor says we'd be better if we worked together. But where's the fun in that?" Alexander kept talking and John pulled the pizza box out of the refrigerator. "Oh, and did I ever tell you I accidentally got in a fight the other day?"

John dropped the pizza on a plate and placed the plate in the microwave. "Nope," John said as he set the timer.

Alexander continued writing. "Like, I didn't mean to shove the guy down those stairs, but he was totally baiting me."

John turned away from the microwave with a frown. "You pushed somebody down the stairs?"

Pen flying across the page at a dizzying speed, Alexander shrugged. "Yeah, but he was totally fine. I think. I kind of took off without asking."

"Alex..."

The writing stopped. Alexander looked up at John with baleful eyes. "I'm sure he's okay. Sam is sturdier than he looks." He waved his pen at John. "Which isn't saying much because he looks like a twig. A twig with nice hair."

John refrained from commenting on Alexander's own stature. That was a Pandora's Box he wasn't in the mood to open. "So did you push him because of a disagreement or because you thought he was cute and didn't know how to tell him?"

Alexander ducked his head down and went back to writing. "The first one. Definitely the first one. If I never have to hear another haughty British accent, it'll be too soon."

The microwave dinged. John felt like he should delve further, but it was too late (Early? Whatever.) and he was hungry. He took the pizza out of the microwave, took a bite, and immediately spit it back onto the plate.

"Ah," he said, sticking out his tongue. "Hot. Way too hot. Way to go, John, you idiot."

John was attempting to blow on his tongue when Alexander walked over and shoved a page in his face. Nearly illegible handwriting crammed every line. "Can you read this for me? It doesn't feel right and I can't figure out why."

"Yes, I am okay, Alex, thanks for asking." His sarcasm went unnoticed as Alexander waved the paper in earnest. John put down the plate and wiped his hands on his pants. He took the page, the curled edges crinkling slightly, and skimmed over the offending paragraphs. "I'll never understand your love affair with run-on sentences."

Alexander pulled a pepperoni off John's pizza slice. He popped it into his mouth. "I know, I know. I can hear Professor Knox fussing at me already. 'Get to the point, Mr. Hamilton! Be succinct and direct! Use less examples!'" He ate another piece of pepperoni and licked grease off his fingertips. "But you're one to talk, John."

"I may use run-ons but nowhere near as much as you. Also I'm actually capable of using sentence variance. Pen." John held out his hand. Alexander took a pen from behind his ear and handed it over. John crossed out a couple of lines, added a handful of periods and semicolons, and drew a few arrows to rearrange some ideas. He gave the paper back to Alexander. "Here. How does that sound?"

Alexander smiled as he read it over. "Better. A lot better. God, you're a genius." He plucked the pen from John's loose grip and gave him a kiss on the cheek, warm and soft and quick. "Thanks."

John blew on his pizza to cool it off. "Don't mention it," he said.

Alexander hurried back over to the coffee table. He jotted down a few more notes on a spare page with a renewed fervor. John took a bite of pizza as he watched Alexander put down his pen and pick up his pacing right where he left off.

This was typical Alexander behavior. John had watched Alexander pace around his dorm back when he roomed with Lafayette. He had watched Alexander circle their loft as Hercules idly tossed balled up pieces of paper at him. Back then the behavior was cute—bearable, John meant—when he only had to deal with it during study sessions. Back when he could go home at the end of the day. John took another bite of his pizza.

But now, John was home. And Alexander was wearing a groove into the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why isn't this pairing named jackhammer i'm offended


	3. The Move-In, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns something about Alexander and goes shopping with Aaron Burr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to upload this on wednesday but i forgoooot

Someone once said that the only things that were certain in life were death and taxes. John liked to think that assholes belonged somewhere on that list too. Not the bodily kind, though that would also be pretty accurate, but the personality kind. The ones who were bullies and pulled your hair whenever you sat in front of them in lecture.

Charles Lee was an asshole. Even worse, Charles Lee was a smart asshole. He was one of the smartest students in the class—second to John, who took great personal pleasure in that fact—and, even worse than that, he knew he was smart.

"So while there is still debate over the complexities and legitimate benefits of clinical empathy," Professor Howe droned on, "We can safely assume that if an increase in empathy leads to improved communication between a physician and a patient, then this, in turn, could improve quality of care."

John stared blankly ahead, chin propped up in his hand, not entirely focusing on the lecture. There was a sharp jab in his right shoulder as someone prodded him in the back. He ignored it. He knew who it was and he knew what they wanted. This conversation could wait until after class. Howe wrote something on the board. John copied it down. He'd read up on the differences between affective and cognitive empathy when he got home.

Someone prodded him in the shoulder again. And again.

"Laurens," hissed a voice and John wondered if this was where his irritation with English accents all began. "You can't ignore me forever."

No, John couldn't, but he could damn well try. The professor continued speaking and John continued pretending to listen. He was putting on a pretty good ruse until he felt someone yank on his hair, pulling hard enough for him to jerk back in his chair with a yelp and slam his knee into the underside of his desk with a resounding bang. Professor Howe stopped speaking. He stared at John. Half of the class turned around and stared at John. A heat crept up John's neck like ivy and he smiled apologetically as he rubbed his knee.

"Sorry," he said. Howe went back to lecturing and the class went back to feigning interest. John spun around and glared into the smug face of one Charles Lee. "What?"

Charles acted disinterested. He waved his hand through the air. "I was simply wondering if you were planning on meeting up with us this afternoon. Your schedule has been so eccentric this semester after all."

At the beginning of the semester, John had cobbled together a study group like he did at the beginning of every semester. This year, however, Charles decided he wanted to join. John wasn't going to say no, that would be petty and rude. Plus, he would have been outvoted because everyone else in the group was over the moon that Charles had even deigned them with his presence.

John fought down the urge to strangle Charles. There was a reason people exchanged cell phone numbers and this was definitely one of those reasons. "Yes," he answered between gritted teeth. "Yes, I am."

Charles seemed satisfied with the answer and motioned that John could turn around now. John did turn around, not because Charles told him to, but because he was done talking anyway. He rubbed the sore spot forming on the back of his head and wondered if it would match the bruise on his knee.

He would have to skip work today, something he had already informed his boss, but the study group was a veritable lifesaver. It turned out that John and Charles were a real power couple when they worked together. The study group was beyond helpful for everyone involved and, though both John and Charles were loath to admit it, their coursework would be exponentially more difficult to handle without the support.

John pulled out his phone and shot a text to Alexander telling him he'd be home late. Alexander responded almost immediately.

 

 

 

John slid his phone back in his pocket and shifted his attention to the lecture. Howe was pacing the aisles of the lecture hall and animatedly describing a hypothetical high-stress scenario to make a point. John picked up his pen and started listening. If there was going to be a study session later tonight, he should probably actually pay attention to class today.

The group had been meeting at a twenty four hour diner a handful of blocks away from their lecture building. Class tended to run late, many of them rarely had a chance to eat dinner, and the diner's hours were convenient. It was a temporary arrangement, Charles mentioned. He made a point to clarify that they were still deciding on a location that was more central to everyone. John suggested changing the meeting time while they were at it. Meeting directly after class increased the probability of everyone being burned out from lecture. John couldn't help but take silent pleasure in the way Charles's lips thinned as the rest of the group agreed.

After a quick bite to eat, delayed only by an in-training waitress whose name John didn't catch (Margery maybe? Marlowe?), the group set out organizing the week's lecture notes into digestible sections. John was flipping through his textbook highlighting choice lines, pausing every so often to jot something down in his notebook. Other members of the group were doing more or less of the same. To make room for their supplies, their dishes were piled haphazardly around the table like a ceramic terrain dotted with half-abandoned condiments and used napkins.

The easy silence was punctured by Charles's tinny voice. "So what does everyone's schedule look like this semester?" He neatly placed his pen down and steepled his fingers, resting his chin on top. "I'm trying to get a feel for how this is going to go."

John knew he was full of shit; Charles was just being nosy. But John knew how to pick and choose his battles, at least with more discern than a certain someone he knew, and bit his tongue. They went around the table and everyone mentioned their course load and their workload, estimating how their lives would interfere with meeting times.

When the roundabout reached John, Charles stared at him with one eyebrow quirked. "And what about you, Laurens? You still work at that clinic right?"

John tapped the end of his highlighter on the table. The sound was hollow and steady. "Yeah, but the hours are pretty flexible and they're really accommodating. If you give me a heads up whenever we're meeting I'll try to make it."

The disappointment that flit across Charles' face was satisfying. John didn't know what exactly Charles was looking for in his answer, but he was glad he didn't find it.

"I see," Charles said.

Somebody else at the table, Caty Littlefield, spoke up. "Hey, aren't you taking that selective this semester? The 'Intro to Surgery' or whatever?"

This piqued Charles' interest. "Laparoscopic surgery...?" He trailed off.

John finished for him, "And endoscopy. Yeah. But that's two weeks in the winter. I'll deal with that bridge when I get to it." Truth be told, he was kind of excited about that one. He'd get a chance to experience working with actual lab equipment and the supervisor for that course seemed pretty cool. "Now are we going to get back to studying or what?"

"Yes. Yes of course." Charles picked up the notecards he had been working on. He hit the deck against the table a few times. "Shall we try quizzing one another then?"

The review continued well into the night. By the time John got home, Alexander had gone to bed. The apartment was dark, save for a single floor lamp next to the couch where Aaron Burr, true to Alexander's word, was sleeping. Aaron's light snores filled the small living room space. John trudged to his room and collapsed on his bed, his clothes smelling of burnt butter and cheap coffee.

\---

Window shopping with Aaron Burr was not how John expected to spend an afternoon. He was sure this wasn't how Aaron had pictured his day going either. They were strolling down the street, pausing every so often to peer in the window of a shop that caught their eye.

"So tell me why I'm the one who has to help you pick a gift for your girlfriend again?"

Aaron sighed. His breath fogged up the window of the current store they had stopped at, a vintage clothing store, and he stepped away from the glass. "Honestly, I don't think I need anyone to accompany me, but Hamilton had other ideas. Apparently he has zero confidence in my gift picking abilities. As for why you're here instead of him? I was hoping you'd be able to fill me in on that one."

John stepped out of the way of a man pushing his bike down the middle of the sidewalk. "I'm a little confused on that one myself." He jogged to keep up with Aaron. "All Alex told me was that it was 'imperative that we don't have a repeat of last year' and then thanked me for volunteering. Except I never volunteered for anything."

"That sounds like Hamilton." Aaron kept walking.

John struggled to match his pace and had to weave through people to keep up. "Do you know what he meant by 'a repeat of last year' or—?"

Aaron was forced to stop at an intersection, allowing John to catch up. "It's not important," Aaron said.

"Okay..." John scuffed the toe of his boots on the concrete. Aaron didn't say anything else and John was starting to regret being dragged into this adventure. "Ya'know, I don't know much about what Theodosia likes, Burr. I remember she was a fan of vintage and retro things, but I don't feel like I bring much to the table here."

The light changed. Aaron started walking again. "I'm sure you'll find some way to make yourself useful."

John began to trail behind again. Not wanting to be left behind, he reached out and grabbed onto Aaron's sleeve. They passed a food truck and the scent of vinegar and lamb hit him full in the face. "You do know Alex promised me that you'd feed me after all this, don't you?"

Aaron paused. "He what?" He looked at John and, seeing that John was one hundred percent serious, he sighed and picked up his pace again. "Of course he did. Fine. Once we find an adequate gift for Theo, we'll go eat."

John pumped his fist in victory. He tightened his grip on Aaron's sleeve and looked at the signs of buildings as they passed by. "So, how are things with you and Theo going anyway? Moving in together's a big step in a relationship."

"Pretty good actually. It's quiet. Nice." Right. They wouldn't be out birthday shopping for her weeks in advance right now otherwise. That was a dumb question. Aaron didn't seem to mind though and kept strolling down the sidewalk. "How about you and Alexander?"

"S'alright I guess. Could be worse." Aaron let out a dry chuckle. That reminded John of something he had been meaning to ask for a while now. He looped his arm around Aaron's so that they could walk side by side. He didn't care how many people they'd piss off this way. "How'd the two of you end up stuck together for so long anyway? It feels like you can't stand him most of the time."

"I can't stand him only some of the time. Like when he sacrifices his friends and volunteers their time without either of us knowing."

John shrugged. "Fair point," he conceded.

"Truthfully, I don't know how we keep getting thrown back together. It's like no matter what I do, I turn around and there he is. Theo calls it fate."

"Oh, that's cute."

"I just think I'm cursed."

"Okay, that's less cute."

"But mostly I've learned to deal with all that Alexander is. Sometimes, however, it's best to simply shut him down and move on with your life."

John hopped over a grate. He was never a fan of walking over those things. "I'm just surprised y'all've never gotten into a fight after all this time. Like a knock-down, drag-out sort of fight."

"There's always time," Aaron joked. "I don't hate the guy, I actually consider him a friend. When we get along. We just have different ways of looking at things and that causes us to butt heads from time to time."

John was inclined to agree, joke or not, but something caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks and Aaron was forced to stop as well. They were in front of a nondescript jewelry store. Something in the window display glinted through the glass. It was obscured by an array of posters plastered to the side of the building. John pulled a flyer off the window—a blue sheet of paper announcing a performance by The SiSterS, some local, budding, all-girl punk band—and handed it off to Aaron as he tried to get a better look.

"How about that?" John pointed at the cameo pendant sitting delicately on a velvet pillow. The carving was detailed and looked professionally done in a way John was sure meant a hefty price tag came attached. But whatever. Aaron had money to burn.

Aaron bent down to look at the necklace. The flyer crinkled in his hands. "Well, Laurens, I guess bringing you along wasn't a mistake after all."

"Gee, thanks," John deadpanned as he bumped his shoulder against Aaron's. That was about as close to gratitude as he was going to get. He tapped on the glass and looked at Aaron excitedly, "So does this mean we can go eat at that Greek food truck we passed a while back?"

Aaron laughed, a punctuated, musical sound, and stood up straight. He walked over to the door and opened it, gesturing for John to enter. "You two really are more alike than you realize."

John stepped inside the shop with a bounce in his step. He was going to take that as a yes.

\---

John rolled his pen between his teeth. He had been at the campus library for a little over an hour and hadn't seen more than a hundred people come and go; the place was weirdly quiet so early in the morning. John fiddled with the corner of the highlighter-riddled notes he had been working on for the past hour. His own looping handwriting stared back up at him from the page.

Sighing, he flipped forward a few pages, stopping on a crude list he had scribbled down last night. The top of the page had "Jobs" scrawled across it with a handful of question marks trailing behind. On the left side of the page were pros, on the right, cons. Taking the pen out of his mouth, he rested his elbow on the table and put his chin in his hand.

It wasn't that he didn't have enough stuff to do, but living in Manhattan was expensive. Splitting rent with Alexander didn't offset the cost as much as it did back when he lived with Hercules and Lafayette either. John's current job at the clinic paid well enough, but they could always use more money. Asking his father for financial support outside of their current setup was out of the question.

John tapped his pen against his notebook. Beneath the two columns was a short list of possible places to apply to—grocery stores, coffee shops, other clinics—but he hadn't actually applied to any of them yet. He picked up his phone and checked the time. He had to be at work in a few hours. Flipping his notebook closed and stuffing it in his bag along with his book, pens, and highlighters, John texted Alexander as he headed out of the library.

 

 

 

John laughed at the suggestion. Yeah right. If John wanted to feel more financially secure, wanted to feel like he was doing something worthwhile and not a waste of space, talking to his dad wasn't a good idea. He was sliding his phone in his pocket when it buzzed again.

 

 

 

John adjusted his bag strap. Drumming his fingers on his phone case, he stopped walking and leaned against a wall. Obviously he was going to run it by Hercules and Lafayette at some point. Now was as good a time as any. He sent Lafayette a text.

As he hit send, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"You seem awfully focused there. Something wrong?"

John jumped and spun around. William Howe, M.D. and professor, put his hands up and stepped back with a laugh. "Didn't mean to startle you, Mr. Laurens. You were so engrossed in your phone, I couldn't help myself."

John took a deep breath and tried to slow down his racing heart. He smiled at Howe. "Yeah, I'm just—" His phone vibrated. He unlocked his screen and frowned at Lafayette's text. Looked like he owed Alexander ten dollars. Shooting off a quick reply, John looked up at Professor Howe. "I'm just trying to figure something out," he said.

 

 

 

"Aren't we all?" Howe nodded towards the exit, "Are you on your way out?"

"Yeah," John started walking towards the door. Howe fell into step next to him. "I've gotta catch a bus and get to work. I tried to get in some study time beforehand."

Howe pushed open the door and motioned for John to go ahead. "Really? How long have you been here?"

_Bzzt. Bzzt._

 

 

"Since four, I think?" John shoved his phone in his back pocket.

Howe's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "Wow," he said, "I hope that's not my class that's got you losing sleep."

John laughed. "No sir. Of course not."

They stopped at the bus station and talked for a while longer.

"So how has everything been this semester? I know I get to see you a few hours out of the week, but I've never had the chance to ask."

John shrugged. "Everything's okay, I guess. School's fine, life's different, but I can't complain." Well, John could complain, but he chose not to at the moment.

"Glad to hear it." Howe smiled, putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "You're bright, Laurens, brimming with potential." John chuckled nervously and tugged at one of his curls that had sprung loose sometime that morning. "You've such a hopeful outlook on life and, frankly, a rather refreshing perspective on the inherent good in people." Howe put a hand on John's shoulder. John twirled the strand of hair around his finger. "Never lose that. That or the fervent desire you have to help people in need."

Howe's gaze was intense. John felt weird. Something jumped in his chest and he looked at the ground, breaking the eye contact. He nodded slowly. Howe chuckled and removed his hand, sliding it back into his pocket. The rest of their conversation was easy and the laughs were light. John felt his phone buzz again. He didn't bother to check it. The bus pulled up about ten minutes into their conversation. They said their good byes and parted ways.

As John stepped on the bus and swiped his bus card, he thought about how amiable Professor Howe was. The man had always been nice to him, though they had never spent much time together outside of the classroom. Maybe John's animosity towards white British dudes was unwarranted. Or maybe William Howe was the exception.

John plopped down in one of the worn bus seats with a huff. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

 

 

John dropped his phone in his lap, crossed his arms and stared out the window. The day had barely started and he was already exhausted.

\---

Mornings were not John's favorite. They were a necessary evil and John dealt with them like everyone else, but mornings become so much more difficult to deal with when he had to run a gauntlet to get ready for the day.

The apartment had become a veritable obstacle course. Clothes were in the middle of the floor and draped over every piece of furniture they owned. It looked like Alexander was in the middle of undressing and was suddenly struck with an urge to pick up a pen and write because the only thing that rivaled the number of clothes was the sheer amount of paper, textbooks, and pens strewn across every flat surface. The bathroom was another story all on its own. It looked like a hazard zone. Cleaning was both of their responsibilities and John had to admit that he wasn't doing much either, but their schedules rarely seemed to line up long enough to sit and have a discussion about it.

Currently, John was trying to brush his teeth and get ready to leave for work, but the sink was cluttered and he kept knocking things into it. This was a normal occurrence in the Laurens-Hamilton household. Normally, John would let it slide. The third time it happened this particular morning though, a bar of soap clattering against the ceramic, John decided he had enough. He leaned out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from his lips. Alexander was sitting in the breakfast nook, pouring over one of his countless writing assignments.

"Hey, Alex?" Alexander looked up from the kitchen table, his reading glasses sliding down his nose. John tried to curb his temper before continuing. "Is there a reason all your shit is spread out literally all over the bathroom sink?" Well, he got points for trying.

Alexander blinked owlishly at him a few times. "What?"

John groaned and went back into the bathroom. He already had to clean hair out of the shower drain this morning and he wasn't really in the mood for any more Alexander-themed shenanigans today. He picked up the clutter that had fallen in the sink and looked it over to see what could be thrown away or placed somewhere else.

There were three tubes of toothpaste (four including john's own), two pens, half a bar of soap, and the tv remote.

"Your stuff is everywhere, man. And while I'm not a total neat freak, I can see why Aaron was so damn grumpy about living with you." He opened the medicine cabinet to shove some of the mess in there for the time being. A wave of stuff tumbled out of the cabinet and into the emptied sink. John stared down at the newly created mess he made. "God. Damn it."

"My bad." Alexander was peeking into the bathroom. He looked so much like a reprimanded child that John stopped himself and took a breath.

He handed Alexander the remote. He took his toothbrush out of his mouth and dropped it into the toothbrush holder. "No, it's fine. I'm just stressed out at work and—well, actually it's not fine, but yelling doesn't really help, does it?"

John knew firsthand how unhelpful it was when something got blown up so far out of proportion that the initial intention got lost. He picked up one of the bottles that had fallen from the medicine cabinet. The pills inside rolled against the tinted plastic. He read the label aloud.

"Ari...piprazole." He knew he had heard that word before, but it was early in the morning and his brain was so fried from lack of sleep, that he couldn't quiet recall what exactly he had learned about it. The bottle wasn't his though, that was for sure. John didn't use the medicine cabinet. He didn't even think he had so much as opened it since they had moved in. He was more of a 'shove everything in a drawer' type of person. John looked over at Alexander, who had a cat-like stare fixed on him, waiting for John's next move. He shook the bottle. "This yours?"

Alexander nodded and shrugged. He was trying to be casual, but his fingers belied his cool exterior as he rapidly tapped the doorframe casing. "Oh, yeah, it's just—"

John picked up another bottle. How many of these were stuffed in the cabinet? He read this label aloud too. "Verapamil."

Now that one really sounded familiar. He vaguely remembered something about high blood pressure and arrhythmia. Honestly, John tended to have an easier time recognizing brand names of medication than generic names which was something he knew he needed to work on if he wanted to further his career. He picked up a few more bottles and read their labels as well. Olanzapine, clozapine, divalproex sodium, diazapam—

"Now that one I remember, that's Valium." John rolled some of the bottles in his hands. Some of the stickers were faded and most of them had the patient's name scratched off. John looked over at Alexander. "Are these all yours?"

Alexander's fingers were still tapping a frantic beat against the wood. "Well, yeah, but it's okay. It's totally legit, promise."

"But you take all of these?" John gestured to what seemed to be an entire pharmacy's worth of medication in his hands and in the sink.

"Oh no. God no." Alexander shook his head, his hair flying about. "I only take like two of them now, I hope. I just never got around to throwing the rest away."

John placed the bottles in his hands on the edge of the sink. He tried to keep a running tally of which ones he had already gone through. "We can go through and throw out the ones you don't need if you—wait. 'You hope'? Do you not know how many meds you're taking?"

The tapping stopped.

"Well okay, I take like two of them _now_ , and I'm hoping it stays that way. I kind of keep the others out of habit. Or whatever." Alexander was being intentionally vague and John was not going to pry. Not after he kind of just went through Alexander's medication like it was any of his business what Alexander's health regimen was like. "I have reminders on my phone about taking them, so I'm good. Despite what it looks like, I'm not a substance abuser."

John picked up two of the toothpaste tubes and placed them next to the pills he had already laid out. "Okay. If you say so, I believe you." He picked up another bottle—how had he missed all of these when they moved in?—and read it's tattered label. The word "lithium" beamed up at him is neat black letters. Judging by the prescription date and number of pills left, this was one of the ones Alexander took regularly. "If we were different people we'd probably sell some of this and make some extra cash because meds are expensive..."

John trailed off as the pieces began to click into place.

"Yeah tell me about it. Between meds, school, rent, and my dad, I'm perpetually broke," Alexander joked. The tension had ebbed from his shoulders as he smiled tiredly.

John had assumed that Alexander had seizures or anxiety or depression or some other unipolar illness, but the lithium sent off a chain reaction in John's brain that allowed all those hours of studying to pay off. John remembered aripiprazole's brand name (Abilify) but he also realized why all the drug names had sent off an incessant alert in the back of his head: most of them were antipsychotics. This information, paired with the lithium, led John to a single conclusion that he suddenly felt a need to verify.

"Dude, are you...are you bipolar?"

The smile on Alexander's face disappeared instantly. The color drained from his cheeks and John could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Uh."

John put his hands up in a placating gesture, the bottle in his hand rattling accusingly. "Actually, never mind. You don't have to answer that—I shouldn't have asked." He dropped the pill bottle back in the sink with the pile of other pills. Of days, weeks, months of trial and errors and shitty side effects and adverse reactions. "I mean it's okay if you are, but it's also okay if you want me to drop the subject." Alexander opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but John couldn't shut up for whatever reason. His mouth kept running and his brain was desperately trying to keep up. "I just—I guess all this fancy education is finally paying off and I got excited for a second but also, like, confused that I never knew? But then, I guess, if you didn't want us to know you didn't have to tell us, but you might not even be bipolar because I haven't shut up long enough to let you talk."

When John stopped talking, there was a lengthy silence that settled over the bathroom. Alexander gave him a level stare. "I was going to tell you to not freak out, but it's way too late for that I guess," he said.

"I'm not freaking out."

"You started rambling. And that's coming from me."

John's shoulders sagged. "Sorry."

Alexander tried to brush it off, but John wasn't sure this was as casual as he was making it out to be. "S'okay. When Aaron found out, he fussed at me for forgetting to refill my prescription. Those are two hours I'll never get back."

He was trying to lighten the mood. John didn't realize it had gotten so heavy. He nodded slowly, but he didn't really know what to say. Alexander was avoiding looking him in the face which was a surreal experience because Alexander stared everyone down. He was always ready to fight, brutally honest, and never backed down from anyone. He would stare down Satan and box God if he believed he had reason to. But this was personal. This was a secret. This was vulnerability and John didn't know how to deal with a vulnerable Alexander.

"So..." John rubbed the back of his neck. There was no way this wasn't going to be awkward, so he might as well dive right in. "Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to pretend this didn't happen?"

"Neither," Alexander said as he stepped into the bathroom. He swiped the lithium from the sink and picked up the Abilify off the sink edge. "We don't have to talk about it, but it's fine that you know if you promise not to freak out again."

John nodded emphatically. His hair was still wet from his shower and it stuck to his cheeks. "Promise."

There had been a weight on Alexander, one that John was wholly unaware of, but it seemed to be lifted by his words. Alexander smiled. That light was shimmering behind his eyes again. As they started cleaning up the mess, John decided that it was okay if he was a little late to work. Nathanael could cover him for a few minutes.

\---

Neither John nor Alexander remembered whose idea it was to attend a Saturday morning flea market, but John knew that Alexander's ideas about interior decorating were questionable at best.

"It's ugly."

"Who cares if it's ugly, John, we need it."

John stepped back from the hand carved floor lamp and put his hands on his hips. He tilted his head left, then right. "It's a lamp shaped like a unicorn, Alex. It's hideous and we're not putting it in the apartment."

Alexander's eyebrows knitted together, his mouth twisting up in frustration. He picked up the lamp and put it down right in front of John as though John needed a close up view of shoddy carpentry. "We need it."

John pushed the lampshade—purple and green fleurs-de-lis—out of his face. "The hell we do."

Alexander opened his mouth to argue, something John was prepared for, but he hissed in pain instead. He snatched his hand from the lamp and shoved his index finger in his mouth.

Self-satisfaction settled over John's face like fog in late autumn. He crossed his arms. "Splinter?" he asked, eyebrow quirked.

Alexander pulled his finger out of his mouth and checked out the damage. He glowered at John. 'I told you so' hung in the air between them. "Shut up," Alexander said and stalked off to another flea market table.

John thanked the seller for their time and apologized for not buying anything. He turned to hurry after Alexander. In his rush, John accidentally barreled into the person standing behind him. Whoever he ran into was slight and soft and made a weird sound between a squeak and a yelp when they collided. John caught his balance before they both tumbled to the ground. The scent of lavender tickled his nose. He stepped back, fiercely apologizing.

"My bad, should've paid attention to where I was going. You okay?"

Disheveled and dazed, the young woman he had run into took a moment to blink the stars out of her eyes. Once she regained her senses, she affixed a sloe-eyed glare on John that was biting and familiar in its intensity. John apologized again. The woman's expression softened as she realized he posed no threat and was truly apologetic. She brushed her bangs out of her face. "No, I'm alright. I wasn't paying attention either. I got a bit overwhelmed and turned around while looking for my sisters." She smoothed the skirt of her sundress and adjusted her purse strap. She smiled at John with a warmth he could feel in his toes. "Are you okay?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm good."

She seemed genuinely relieved. "That's good, I—"

"Betsey! Quit flirting with strangers and check out this sick rug I found!"

The woman paused and stared at something over John's shoulder, several tables away. She brushed past him and his nose was filled with lavender again. "Angie, I thought we already decided on not getting a shag rug for the studio." She stepped around a vintage rolltop desk, careful to avoid a bucket full of brass doorknobs. "And have you seen Peggy? We haven't rehearsed today and I can't find her." Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at John once more, "Oh, sorry again. See you around?"

She dashed off before John could answer, her inky black hair and bright blue dress somehow disappearing in the sea of people.

Weaving through the crowd that naturally followed a Saturday morning flea market, John eventually caught up to Alexander meandering the aisles between the tables and stalls. He ran a delicate finger over some of the trinkets as he walked. He briefly paused to look at something he found interesting before moving along, only to pause again at the next item that caught his eye. John quietly plodded behind him. It was strange to see Alexander be aimless. He was so single-minded in nearly everything he did that John forgot what a quiet moment with him could be like.

"So," John started as he picked up a ceramic figurine. It was a skillfully painted turtle with a glossy finish. He turned it over a few times in his hands before setting it down. "Do you have anything particular in mind? Or are you just gonna demand we buy anything and everything you decide you like?"

Alexander ran his fingers across a wind chime hanging from a booth as they passed. The melody was light and airy. "Another chair for the living room and a couple of barstools would be nice. Maybe an area rug?"

"So long as it doesn't have a unicorn on it, I'm good," John joked.

"Okay, first of all unicorns are cool—"

"No, they're not."

"They symbolize virtue and grace and—"

"We are not decorating our apartment with unicorns, Alexander." John sidestepped a painting that was leaning against a wooden end table. He fell into step next to Alexander, easily keeping pace with him now. "Burr shot you down on this one when the two of you started living together and I've gonna side with him here."

Alexander sighed. He bumped his shoulder against John's. "I just want it to feel like home."

John made a face. "Unicorns remind you of home?"

"No, I want—forget the unicorn thing, okay?—I want our place to feel like home." Alexander glanced at John. He must have still looked confused or skeptical or something, because Alexander huffed and sat down in a plastic neon orange retro mod chair. "Look, when I lived with Aaron, it was nice. For all our bickering and bullshit, I still love the guy and we're still friends. Living with him was like finding a home away from home." Alexander leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. He was mulling over his words as he attempted to weave tact and sentimentality into his speech. "Whenever I visited you and Laf and Herc, it felt the same way. Like you had carved a piece of home in a corner of New York. I want our place to feel like that."

John held out his hand. Alexander took it and stood as John pulled him up. "It does feel like that," John said. "Sort of."

Not letting go of John's hand, Alexander resumed his meandering. "A lot of shit has changed this year. I figured a home base sort of thing would help things suck less."

John let himself be dragged along. Alexander's hand was dry and calloused. "When did you get all introspective and considerate?"

Alexander stopped at a table whose sign boasted the quality of their handwoven rugs. He scratched the back of his neck and swung their hands back and forth. "I think I've been hanging around you and Burr too much."

Half laughing, half scoffing, John ran his fingers across the fringes of one of the rugs on display. It had a nice pattern, simple and attractive, but the price tag was a bit much. "Ok, but seriously though. The idea is nice, but instead of focusing on refurbishing our new pad or whatever shouldn't we focus on, oh I don't know, eating? Paying rent? That sort of thing?"

Alexander shrugged in that way that meant he didn't really have a plan because he didn't think one was necessary. John hated that shrug. "We can multitask. Budget." John felt Alexander squeeze his hand. "Is this about the job thing again? I thought Lafayette talked you out of it already."

"He tried," John said, "but he ended up getting frustrated and telling me to talk to Mulligan. So..."

"So you're procrastinating because he's gonna say the same thing me and Laf did."

Indignation pinched John's face into a frown. He slipped his hand out of Alexander's grip. "You don't know that."

"I don't know what?" Alexander flipped through the rugs hanging up on the display rack. It was like he wasn't even looking at the price tags. "That that's the reason you haven't hit him up yet, or that he's gonna side with us?"

John scuffed the toe of his shoe against the concrete. He hated when Alexander got it in one. "Both."

Alexander continued browsing the rugs. "Man, I love you, but you're gonna get outvoted on this one whether you wait it out or not." John wasn't sure when their friendship had turned into a democracy, but he wasn't a fan of it when it worked against him. Alexander paused his rummaging long enough to admire a garish green rug. "If you wait too long, I can't be responsible for what might happen."

John rolled his eyes. He placed a hand on his hip and watched Alexander thread his fingers through the tassels of a rug that was as equally hideous as the last. "Is that supposed to be a threat? You know how I feel about ultimatums."

John had enough of those growing up. He had enough saccharine coated, anger honed, and neatly penned ultimatums to last him a lifetime and he had run out of space to collect them all a long time ago.

"And you know how impatient I can be." Alexander reached the end of the rack. Dissatisfied with every rug—or maybe he never intended to buy one—he brushed off his hands and linked his fingers with John's, guiding them towards their next destination. "Especially when I know I'm right."

John let their hands swing gently to and fro as he let Alexander lead the way. "Especially when you don't get what you want, you mean."

He felt Alexander rub his calloused thumb across the back of his hand.

"Same difference."

\---

It was hot. It was August in New York, so of course it was hot, but it was hotter in the apartment than it was outside and that was always a bad sign. John had come home from work and was greeted by a heavy wall of heat when he opened the door. He balanced his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder as he bent down to untie his shoes. Hercules's voice drifted over the phone speaker as John pulled at his laces.

"Not much going on over here. I finally settled in, work's fine, and I'm making friends, since I know that's what you wanna hear." John chuckled as he toed off his shoes. Hercules continued, a smile in his words, "Nah, but seriously, a couple of coworkers even invited me to some party down in San Francisco, so that'll be interesting. Aside from that, the most exciting thing this week was when I accidentally hit a vein when doing my injection the other day."

John winced. "Ouch. You good?"

Hercules snorted in that way that meant he was making that face that was a mix of a shrug, an eye roll, and the emoticon comprised of a colon and a slash. "Please, I'm fine. It bled a bit and there was a little soreness, but nothing nine plus years of HRT hasn't prepared me for to be honest," Hercules said. "Anyway, how's it going with you?"

"It's hot as balls here, man," John spoke into the receiver of his phone. "You're really not missing much weather-wise."

Hercules's voice crackled from the other side. "Aw man, does the city smell like steaming trash?" His voice had a faraway, nostalgic tint to it.

John slid the strap of his bag off his shoulder. "Like always."

There was a whirring sound that John assumed was a sewing machine. It stopped and Hercules spoke again, a little softer this time. "Who'd've thought I'd miss that stale-ass smell? Who'd've thought I'd miss New York this much?"

John dropped his bag onto the floor and padded over to the AC unit in their living room window. "Oh, so you miss the city, but you don't miss me?"

Hercules laughed, a deep and rumbling sound. "You're so clingy, John, I haven't had time to miss you yet."

Waving his hand in front of the unit, John pressed the power button once. The AC was deathly silent. John pressed the button again. He clicked the knob in one direction, then the other.

"Well, shit," John said. He could already feel the sweat pricking his skin.

"'Sup?"

John pressed a few more buttons in vain. He checked the outlet the unit was plugged into and fiddled with the cord to make sure it was plugged in all the way. "I think our AC broke."

"Shit."

"Right?" John ran his hands through his hair; some of his curls stuck to the back of his neck. He pressed the TEST button on the outlet. When the RESET button popped out, he pushed it back in, but nothing happened. "So now I get to play mechanic. Because that's how I planned to spend this afternoon after a long day at work."

Hercules sounded sympathetic. "Well, at least you don't have class today, right? Speaking of work though—" John winced at the subject change. He braced himself for the inevitable. "Lafayette mentioned something about you getting another job?"

John stood up. He walked over to Alexander's room to check the fuse box. "I was just thinking about it. I hadn't actually done anything about it yet, but then Alex and Laf were super against it and like—I dunno, man, forget about it. It was a dumb idea."

"Why?"

The box was located on the wall behind the bedroom door. John pulled it opened and glanced at the circuit breakers. The one for the living room wasn't tripped, but that didn't necessarily mean a fuse wasn't blown. "Why was it a dumb idea?"

"No, why'd you want another job?" Hercules sounded muffled, like there was something in his mouth. John was reminded of late nights when he and Lafayette were impromptu mannequins as Hercules furiously handstitched seams with a row of pins between his teeth. "Obviously you had some sort of thought process when you made that decision."

John flipped the switch to 'off'. "I don't like where I am financially, I guess. Money is tight literally always and I know that's just one of the perks of being in your twenties and living in New York of all places, but still." John stopped by the fridge on his way back to the window with the unit. He pulled a freeze pop out of the freezer—which was still in working order, thank god—and swiftly opened it before taking a bite. "I always feel like I should be doing something whenever I have free time, like I should always be busy. Plus maybe if I get another job I'll make enough so I won't have to take money from my dad anymore and—"

"Stop," Hercules said. "Breathe. Think. You're rambling like Alexander right now and I'm having trouble keeping up."

John stopped half way between the kitchen and Alexander's bedroom. The ice had melted in his mouth, leaving his tongue slightly numb. "Okay," he said after a moment.

This was enough for Hercules, who went back to lecturing. "Why are you talking about your dad again, anyway? I thought we settled this whole train of thought last year when you decided that you were going to take the money and keep your distance." John went back to the fuse box and flipped the switch back on, successfully resetting the circuit breaker. He wanted to tell Hercules that he had been emailing his father again, but he was worried how Hercules would react, what he would say. "He may be your dad but you don’t have to reconcile or try to love him or—shit."

Hercules hissed in pain and John felt kind of useless from two thousand miles away. He closed the door to the fuse box and exited the bedroom. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just stabbed myself with a pin. Should've been paying closer attention."

John tried turning the AC unit again. It wasn't much of a surprise when it didn't come on, but it was still disappointing. "Oh, God, right, you're at work. I should go."

There were a few seconds of silence on the other side, like Hercules wanted to say something but ultimately chose not to. "'Kay," he said eventually. "Call you later."

Hercules hung up, the line went dead, and John was left with a silent phone and a broken AC. He took another bite of his freeze pop. It was time to call Washington.

When Washington arrived, he determined that the unit had merely crapped out on them; it was pretty old after all. He could get them a new one by tomorrow afternoon. John and Alexander wouldn't even have to pay for it, but until then there wasn't much else he could do. The suggestion to spend the night with Aaron and Theodosia was Alexander's idea when he came home from class that evening.

"Thanks for letting us crash here for the night, Theo." John slid off his shoes and placed them in the dainty wooden shoe rack positioned by the front door.

"Oh, it's no problem." Theodosia took John and Alexander's bags. She gave them a warm smile. "I haven't seen the two of you in ages, anyway."

Looking around the spacious apartment, Alexander carelessly kicked off his sneakers. "Damn, this place is huge."

John picked up Alexander's shoes and put them on the rack too. He straightened up and followed Alexander further inside, glancing around the living room that connected to the short entryway. "Where's Burr?"

"Aaron is in the guest bedroom, putting new sheets on the bed," Theodosia said.

This news clearly excited Alexander. He tore his eyes off of the opulent artwork on the walls long enough to give Theodosia a wide-eyed stare. "There's a guest bedroom? I thought we were gonna have to sleep on a couch or air mattress or something." He must have immediately realized how unappreciative he sounded, because he quickly added, "Not that we're not totally grateful that you're letting us spend the night in the first place. But. Y'know. It's a nice surprise."

Theodosia adjusted her grip on the bags and John felt a bit guilty about letting her take them off their hands. "Of course," she said, brushing off Alexander's brusque behavior like raindrops from a sunshower. "Have you two eaten yet or should I heat something up for you?"

John shook his head. He was more tired than hungry. "No thanks, I'm good."

"Already ate," Alexander replied as he spun the gemstone globe that was sitting on an end table.

"Don't feed them, Theodosia. You'll only encourage them to stay longer."

Aaron stepped out from a hallway that John presumed led to the bedrooms. He looked as somber as always, John noted, even with his pajama set and slippers on. Alexander gave the globe another decisive spin and watched the continents rotate in a dizzying blur before turning to Aaron. He walked over and gave Aaron's back a hearty pat.

"Like you wouldn't want us to stay longer, you lonely old man."

Aaron bristled. "I'm not—"

Swinging his arm around Aaron's shoulders, Alexander pulled them closer together. "Shhh, dude, it's okay. I still love you. Theo still loves you. Dunno if John loves you, but I'll love you enough for the both of us."

Aaron stared at John and Theodosia, his face schooled into a silent plea for help. Theodosia giggled as she handed the bags to Aaron to be placed in the guest room, she always thought Alexander's antics were hilarious, and John shrugged unhelpfully. Alexander gave Aaron an emphatic shake as he began to regale him on the precise ways in which all of their adventures over the years warranted more hospitality in a situation like this. John could practically feel the irritation ebbing off of Aaron, but he didn't miss the funny way the edges of Aaron's mouth quirked up as Alexander continued his storytelling.

Lying in a king size bed with satin sheets and your best friend's arms wrapped around you was a surreal experience. John stared at the high ceiling of the bedroom in the dark.

"So how was your day?" Alexander's voice was singsong-y and playful and John knew that he was fluttering his eyelashes; he could swear that he felt butterfly kisses along his skin.

"Boring for the most part." John moved Alexander's arm from across his waist and tried to push him to the other side of the bed. Alexander rocked a bit before he snuggled closer to John and draped his arm across John's chest. "I talked to Herc today about the job thing though. And then the AC broke and he stabbed himself with a sewing needle so the conversation pretty much ended there."

"So are you still gonna do it?" Mouth pressed to John's shoulder, Alexander's words were muffled. "'Cause I'll support you if you do. I dunno if I made that clear before."

John continued to stare at the ceiling. It was strange what shapes shadows took on if you looked at them long enough. John turned on his side so that he was facing Alexander. "Nah," he said with a shrug.

"Good," Alexander said. His mouth turned up and there was a glint in his eyes. "Because I was totally bluffing."

John rolled his eyes and shoved Alexander's face with the palm of his hand. He was not in the mood to play. "God, shut up and go to sleep, Alexander."

Alexander, vision still obscured by John's hand, wrapped his leg across John's own. His breath was hot and sticky on John's palm as he said, "Make me."

John pulled a pillow from under his head—there were many and they were all in satin pillowcases—and shoved it in Alexander's face in an attempt to smother him with it. Limbs flailing every which way, Alexander protested as he tried to fight John off. Once John had felt Alexander had learned his lesson (and once John was sufficiently bored), he stopped the assault. Alexander's face was flushed and his hair was tousled, some of the strands sticking to his face like spiral art, as he pouted at John.

"I can't believe I was just the victim of attempted murder."

John shoved the pillow back under his head. "Eh," he said with a lazy shrug, "You survived. You always do. Now go to sleep."

As John went back to staring at the ceiling, Alexander went back to curling up against John and using him as a literal body pillow. There was still a number of things on John's to do list for the next few days—homework and classwork and lab work and work-work—and as he ran the list over in his head while having a staring contest with the stark white ceiling above, Alexander lulled off to sleep next to him. The sheets were slick and cool, a welcome reprieve from the late summer heat. Alexander's soft snores created warm, rhythmic shapes along John's neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a fun fact! aaron and theo actually have two guest rooms but they just assumed john and alexander would want to share a bed. amazing!! the more you know


	4. The Move-In, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets some good news

"If I ran away and joined the circus, would you come with me?"

Alexander stopped fiddling with a deconstructed shoebox that was sitting on the counter and looked up from his diorama. "What?"

John draped himself over the back of the couch with all the dramatics of a Southern belle. He repeated his question. "If I ran away and joined the circus, would you run away with me?"

Alexander rapped his knuckles on the counter, chewing his bottom lip. "Probably not?" He seemed to take this pretty seriously, as if it pained him to abandon John in his hypothetical hour of need. "I've got too much to do and circus life is rough. I'd come see all your shows though and support you as best I could. That good enough?"

John raised his head and looked at Alexander standing in the kitchen. "Would you at least cover for me for my dad?"

"As long as I could." He crossed his heart with a broken pencil that was wrapped up in a layer of rubber bands. "Promise."

John dropped back on the couch and resumed his waifish lounging. "Okay, that's good enough."

Alexander went back to fiddling with whatever seventh grade looking book report project he was working on over in the kitchen. "So what's got you so worked up that you want to run away and become a clown?"

"What makes you think I'd be a clown?" John pushed himself off the back of the couch. He was done with his temper tantrum now.

"You can't do much else, John." Alexander actually seemed apologetic for John's lack of circus transferable skills.

John walked over to the counter and sat on one of the mismatched barstools they had recently acquired from the flea market. "A: rude, B: between work and class, this semester is killing me slowly, and C: my dad emailed me back today and I really don't want to read it."

Alexander was focused intently on his project. His tongue peeked out of the side of his mouth. "That’s rough."

John watched Alexander's nimble fingers work. It was always weird to watch him do something other than writing, typing, or jabbing someone in the chest accusingly. John had to ask. "What are you doing?"

"It was supposed to be a diagram of one of our practice cases," Alexander looked so proud of himself that John had to resist the urge to ruffle his hair. "Aaron suggested I do this so it's easier to visualize. He also said it'd 'help me burn off some of my excessive energy' or whatever. Then it kinda turned into a therapeutic art project thing. It's still pretty cool though, right?"

John would have called it cute—because honestly, it was; miniature things were always cute—but cool was definitely another adjective that could be used. It was then John realized that he had been so focused on his own workload that he had forgotten to check in with Alexander. This was his first semester as a real life law student. The only thing John really knew about law school was that it was hard. Like 'the Bar restricts you from working full time while attending law school' hard.

"How are you by the way?" John picked up a stray toothpick and prodded at a cotton ball sitting close by. "Like your classes and internship and everything."

Alex's head shot up. His expression was bright and excited. "I love everything so far. This is what I've been waiting for all my life and I never knew it."

John smiled. "What, the chance to argue for a living?"

Alexander laughed. He threw his head back and everything. Once he was done, once his laughter had filled up every corner of their small apartment, he smiled wide and bright at John. "Basically," he said.

The next few minutes were spent in the not so quiet that was unique to their corner of the city. Car horns, sirens, and yelling in the streets drifted in through their slightly ajar windows. John watched Alexander steadily work on his pet project.

"Hey," John started. "About your bipolarity..."

Alexander didn't pause what he was doing, but his motions shifted slightly. He became tense, more guarded. "Yeah?"

John pulled out his phone and placed it on the counter. He didn't know if he was overstepping his boundaries, but he thought it would be best to ask. Surely Alexander would tell him if he was out of line.

"Should I tell Herc and Laf? I mean, have you ever thought about telling them?"

Alexander scoffed. He was still focused on perfecting his diagram. "Only a hundred fucking times."

John spun his phone around in circles on the countertop. He tilted his head to one side. "Wait, really?"

Alexander had never been able to keep a secret for shit. John was surprised that he had any secrets to him at all, let alone one that he seemed so eager to share. The man was as transparent as a window pane.

"I've also thought about never letting them know a hundred fucking times too. You too."

That was understandable. People could be cruel and mean and selective about their support. It was hard to know which faucet of you would be rejected by people whose opinions you cared about the most.

Alexander refused to look up from the diagram. He fiddled with a roll of tape on the countertop, spinning it in tight circles with his forefinger. "It's weird to put into words and explain to people like you, but I guess it's fine if all three of you know. You seem pretty cool with it and that's—so long as you're willing to put up with my crazy ass—that's really all that matters to me."

"Those two are way more chill than you give them credit for." John was trying to assuage Alexander's fears without completely discrediting them, but he wasn’t sure how well he was getting that notion across. "We've been hanging with you for this long, so you're kinda stuck with us."

Alexander turned his attention back to his work of art in progress. He picked up a bottle of glue and went to work with all the seriousness of a neurosurgeon at the operating table. "Man, has it really been five years?"

"Sure has. Five years since Herc convinced me to take that figure drawing class—"

"Because you would doodle nature still lifes in your notebook all the time."

John propped his elbow on the counter and rested his chin in his hand. He spun his phone again, the hard plastic softly whirring against the marble. "Five years since some hyperactive piece of shit wouldn't stop making faces at me during each session," he teased.

"What can I say, I thought you were cute from day one." With one hand, Alexander blindly grasped around the small army of art supplies littering the counter and kept his face buried in his diagram. John nudged a pack of toothpicks his way and Alexander dragged them closer without so much as a thanks. "Plus you were wearing a sweatshirt with a Desmond Tutu quote on it, so I immediately liked you better than half the people I had met that semester."

John didn't remember much about that first conversation with Alexander in a half-empty hallway during the class's ten minute break. He did remember feeling happy and incredibly light by the time he returned to his dorm that day though. "Why were you a model for that class again?"

Alexander shrugged. "I needed the cash. And let's be real here," he put a hand on his hip and struck a pose, glue bottle pointed towards the ceiling. The bottle gurgled in his grip as paste bubbled from the tip and ran down the sides. He shot John a grin. "When have I ever been shy about this body?"

"God," John said, ignoring Alexander's rhetorical and ridiculous question, "and then you showed up in one of Lafayette's classes in the spring, Herc invited you to eat lunch with them, and we've been stuck with you ever since."

Alexander, nonplussed by John's reaction, dropped the pose and surveyed his handiwork displayed among the mess on the kitchen counter. "And we lived happily ever after. The end."

John picked his phone up off the counter and slid it back into his pocket. "Hey, what time is it, like ten-thirty? Did you check the mail today?"

Alexander had finished his diorama. At least John assumed he had finished it because Alexander slammed down the bottle of glue with a sense of finality and an air of pride.

"No," he said as he looked at all the gunk covering his hands. He picked at a spot of dried glue. "Didn't you check it on your way up?"

John rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. "Uh. No. I was too busy being dramatic about my life."

"Completely understandable." Alexander didn't even try to hide the mocking tone in his voice. He continued peeling glue off of his fingers. It came off in pale, milky flakes and it kind of grossed John out.

"Don't be a smart ass," John said. "Let's go see if we've got anything other than junk mail today. Even though I totally doubt it and—for Christ's sake, Alexander, just wash it off."

Alexander looked up from his compulsive picking, doe eyed. With a huff, John slid off the barstool and stomped around the counter. He turned on the water in the sink and shoved Alexander's hands underneath the faucet. Alexander didn't fight it, merely succumbing to John's over the top behavior. The glue and glitter and tufts of cotton balls swirled around the sink basin before disappearing down the drain.

The water was hot. John watched his and Alexander's hands turn red under the running stream. "I'm supposed to video chat with Laf and Herc today," he heard himself say, "You wanna join?"

Alexander finally pulled away from John and moved to dry his hands on a dish towel hanging on the oven door handle. "What about time zones? I didn't get around to checking them, so I don't know how off they are."

John turned off the water. "It's gonna be like five in the morning for Laf but he claimed he needed to get up early today—tomorrow?—anyway. LA is only three hours behind us so Hercules will be getting ready for some 'networking' as he put it." John dried off his hands once Alexander moved out of the way. "The way he was explaining it, I think it's like clubbing but also technically a part of your job."

Alexander made a face. "Artists are _weird_."

" _Right_?"

It was on their way down to their mailbox when the pair ran into their superintendent. He was climbing up the stairs from the second floor, toolbox in hand.

Alexander visibly perked up. "Oh, hey, Mr. Washington!"

John snorted and was rewarded with a swift elbow to the gut for his action.

"Where are you boys off to this late? Going partying?" Washington chuckled at his own joke. Alexander laughed along with him. John tried not to laugh at Alexander.

"Sir, no offense, but Alexander is in his pajamas," John motioned to Alexander's current outfit of sweatpants and a faded graphic tee. "And I'm wearing slippers that look like turtles." John wiggled his toes, the fluffy turtles on his feet waving their flippers adorably. "We're going to check our mail."

George nodded in understanding. "Well stay safe and have fun."

John wondered if the man had heard a thing he had said.

"Where are you going, Mr. Washington?" Alexander asked. John didn't have the heart to tell him just how overeager he seemed. Washington didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he didn't mind. Maybe he was used to his tenants developing crushes on him. John was definitely going to tease Alexander endlessly about this once they got back to the apartment though.

Washington rattled his toolbox. "Maintenance issue on the fourth floor. Duty calls, as it were."

Both John and Alexander made a face. "Gross."

Washington laughed his booming laugh and John felt it in his chest. "The life of a building supervisor is never done I suppose."

John and Alexander agreed and stepped aside so Washington could pass them by on the stairs. "Well good luck, I guess," John said.

"Thank you, son, the sentiment is appreciated." He placed a hand on John's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before heading upstairs.

Once Washington disappeared up the stairwell, John looked at Alexander. Alexander was intently watching Washington's retreating form, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. John shoved him lightly.

"Dude, stop checking out his ass. That is so weird."

Alexander swayed a bit from the contact and he snapped his attention to John, eyes wide. "I was not!" he whispered harshly.

"Were too."

Alexander gaped like a fish for a bit and John wondered if this was going to be the first time he had ever been rendered speechless. Of course, Alexander being Alexander, he quickly recovered and shoved John back. "Yeah, okay, whatever you say 'son'."

John flushed. "Shut up. I'm not like you and Lafayette. I don't have a thing for older men."

Alexander cackled and began to bounce down the stairs. "That's a lie and you know it and Laf knows it and Herc knows it."

John should have never told Alexander about that dream he had featuring him, Professor William Howe, and a county fair. John hadn't even been to a county fair in years. The last person he had ridden the Ferris wheel and watched the fireworks with was his high school girlfriend slash best friend, Martha Manning. Besides, John totally didn't have a thing for older men. Especially not Professor Howe.

"You're just jealous that he said it to me. You totally want him to call you that. You're totally into that daddy kink shit."

Alexander continued descending the stairs, running his hand along the flaking paint on the wall. "Whoa, where'd you learn that one from? Our innocent Laurens knows what a daddy kink is. A kink I totally don't have by the way."

John pretended to swoon and clasped his hands together. It didn't matter that Alexander couldn't see him, it was committing to the act that mattered. "Oh Daddy Washington! Spank me! I've been a bad boy!"

Because Alexander had his hair pulled back into a bun like he always did, John could see the blush running up the back of his neck. "Oh my God, shut up. Somebody's gonna hear you."

John laughed and dropped the act. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Admit you were checking him out just now."

Alexander threw his hands up into the air. "Fine. I might have absolutely one hundred percent completely been checking out Washington's ass." He shot back a grin at John over his shoulder, "but can you really blame me?"

The correct answer was probably, no, John could not really blame Alexander for checking out their admittedly fit superintendent. But John hadn't really noticed Washington's ass. He had never thought to check it out.

"I dunno, I haven't really looked at it."

"Well you're missing out."

"I'm good, thank you."

It was then that John remembered the unread email from his father in his inbox. He didn't know if it was the whole daddy kink conversation or not, but he leaned his head back and groaned anyway. Alexander, walking ahead of John and taking the stairs two at time, glanced back over his shoulder.

"'Sup?"

"Nothing, I just remembered I'm going to have to email my dad back eventually."

Alexander jumped off the third from the last step and hit the ground with a thud. He bounced on his toes and spun around to face John. "Did I ever tell you how weird that is to me? The email thing." No, he didn't but John knew he was about to hear about it right now anyway. "Why don't you call or text him? It's easier and more convenient that way."

"This coming from the guy who writes actual letters to his father." That wasn't exactly playing fair and John knew it, but he was always sensitive when it came to the topic of his father. They both were.

Alexander didn't seem phased by the jab. He turned back around and headed for the mailroom. "Yeah, well, I'd call him if his number didn't change constantly. We decided on letters because it was a more surefire thing. More stable."

John trailed behind him. His phone felt heavy in his back pocket. "Texting is too personal. It's instant and intimate and I don't want to ruin a perfectly good time because my father decides to text me a racist meme at four in the afternoon." Alexander snorted at that. John smiled. He dropped his keys into Alexander's outstretched hand and watched him jam the small mailbox key into the keyhole. "And whenever we talk on the phone I swear I can hear his disappointment over the line. So yeah. I'll stick to email, thanks."

"You are so weird," Alexander said with a twist of his wrist, unlocking their apartment's mailbox. He opened the door.

Inside there was a letter with a return to sender stamp on it. Alexander pulled it out and looked at it. For a split second John was sure Alexander was going to cry, which would have been awkward because he had never seen Alexander cry a day in his life, but instead he neatly folded up the envelope and shoved it into his pocket.

"Still no word back?" John asked. He knew the answer. James Hamilton hadn't contacted his son in nearly a month, but Alexander was never one to give up hope when it came to his father. Alexander didn't respond to John's question, didn't look at him, he just flipped through the rest of their junk mail with a half-hearted shrug. "Did you tell him about your change of address?"

"Yeah. I'm sure he's just busy or out of town or something." Alexander threw the rest of the mail in the trash as they headed back upstairs. It was nothing by flyers and magazines. "He'll write back when he has the chance."

It was John's personal opinion that if somebody sent you a few hundred bucks several times a year, the least you could do was keep in contact with them, busy or not. John bit his tongue and followed Alexander upstairs and back to the apartment.

The chat with Hercules and Lafayette was a fun one. Alexander had been reluctant to join the conversation at first, claiming he didn't want to infringe on their bonding. John stated that this was bullshit because when had Alexander ever been conscientious of others? Not to mention he had been hanging with them long enough that it was a given he was going to be a part of any sort of bonding that took place. Alexander conceded and leaned over the back of the couch to get a good look at John's computer.

They had to call Lafayette three times before he woke up, but seeing his two best friends waving at him from his laptop screen sent a warmth through John's chest. Even when Lafayette had waggled his eyebrows and asked how married life was treating John and Alexander. John rolled his eyes and told Lafayette to shut up while Alexander merely laughed in good humor. It didn't take long for the four of them to slip back into their casual conversation as though no time had passed between them at all.

"It's art, man!" Hercules was wildly waving his arms about while trying to explain the importance of fashion. The wall behind him was painted a vivid shade of indigo and a few half-dressed mannequins stood in a row. "It's about the clothes, but also _not_ about the clothes, get it? It's about the story and the message and the _feeling_."

John had started braiding his hair into two large plaits, curls twisting around his fingers as he did so. His laptop was balanced on his knees. "Bro, they're clothes."

"They are very nice clothes, but yes, Jack is right: they are clothes," Lafayette said with a yawn. He was moving from one room to another—most likely the bedroom to the kitchen—and placed his computer on a table as he disappeared from view.

"They're expensive as fuck too," Alexander said. He had set to work on the other side of John's head at some point. He braided John's hair a ways down before expertly wrapping a hair tie around the ends.

Hercules deflated. "Man, I knew I shouldn't've tried to explain it to you guys."

" _Mais oui_ ," Lafayette had returned to the table with a plate of bread and jam. He placed the back of his hand to his forehead and swooned dramatically, dropping into his chair. He thickened his accent as he continued, "How difficult it must be to explain it to us, the unwashed masses."

John finished his braid and tied it off with a grin. "I don't think an artist like Hercules Mulligan wants to surround himself by plebeians like us." He tried to take on an affected tone, but his attempt mingled with his slight southern twang and the result was something not at all posh and completely ridiculous.

Lafayette looked somewhat scandalized by the sounds that had come out of John's mouth, while Alexander and Hercules both burst into laughter. John chuckled and scratched the back of his neck and Lafayette tried his damndest to not crack a smile before eventually giving in and admitting with a laugh that John's horrible excuse of an accent was pretty hilarious.

As the laughter died down, Alexander folded his arms across the back of the couch, careful not to bump into John and knock over the laptop. "How's Paris, Laf?" He leaned in and excitedly plucked at the hair ties banded around his wrist. "Is it pretty?"

Lafayette spread a healthy dollop of jam on a slice of toast before answering. It was still dark in France judging by the lack of light behind the drapes that were situated behind him. "It's Paris," he said with a shrug, "It's...home." Taking a bite of his toast, he took a moment to think before speaking again. "The major caveat about home is my grandmother. She keeps commenting on how I've grown into such a fine young man and it wouldn't bother me if I hadn't already explained the agender concept to her several times already."

"Yikes," John offered unhelpfully.

"Hey, I told you you didn't have to come out to your family way back when," Hercules said.

Lafayette tried to refrain from rolling his eyes, but an 'I told you so' from Hercules was often inevitable and rarely welcome. "Yes, yes, but I still don't regret it. It's merely baffles me that they struggle with the gender thing but took the whole pansexual part in stride."

Hercules shrugged, perfectly mirroring Alexander's own shrug thousands of miles across the continental U.S. "Whatchu gonna do?" Hercules said.

"People pick and choose what parts of you they're comfortable with," Alexander said.

Lafayette shoved the rest of his toast in his mouth and grunted in general disapproval. With food still in his mouth, he attempted to shift the conversation topic and asked, "So what have you two been up to?"

John shook his head. "Oh no, forget about us. Tell us what you're doing, Laf."

Hercules leaned back in his desk chair, arms crossed. "Yeah man, we still don't know what exactly you plan to do when you come home."

"If you plan on coming home," John added.

Lafayette swallowed. He huffed. John had really missed seeing his indignation face to face. Though he often acted as if he were insulted, most of his exasperation was for show. God, John loved his friends.

"Well, if you must know," Lafayette said as he spread jam on his second slice of toast, "I'm getting my affairs in order so I can move to New York. As in for good."

Alexander, who had at some point moved to resting his chin on John's shoulder, reached out and grabbed the computer screen so he could position the camera at a better angle. "Wait, for real?"

John adjusted the screen to its original position. "You're not shitting me are you? You're going to live here? Like forever? Can you even do that?"

"I've been navigating this process for a while now, John, trust me when I say I am serious."

John looked at Hercules. He was smiling warmly and didn't seem at all taken aback by the news. "Why aren't you freaking out about this? Don't tell me you already knew."

"He's texted me about it for almost a month." Hercules looked apologetic as he scratched at the shadow of stubble on his chin. "He didn't want to tell you and get your hopes up."

John didn't really appreciate being left out of the loop, but he was glad that at least one of his best friends would be returning home.

"Oh, do not pout, Jack," Lafayette said before taking another bite of his breakfast. He waved the toast around as he spoke with a mouthful of bread and fruit. "I planned on telling you eventually. And, well, I suppose eventually means right here and now."

"I'm not pouting," John said, pouting.

"Yeah you are," Hercules looked two parts amused and one part doting as he rested his arms on his desk and leaned closer to his computer.

"You totally were," Alexander agreed.

John resisted the urge to cross his arms and go into full on glower mode. He knew if Hercules was here he would playfully ruffle his hair while Lafayette would coo and pinch his cheek. "Wow, okay, so I guess it's 'everybody team up on Jack night' tonight at the Apollo."

"Actually," Hercules said, "Since we're on the subject of coming home, don't think we've forgotten your birthday."

John felt his stomach flip. He wasn't going to admit that he had definitely thought about how his birthday this year was going to be weird without them. Yes he had Alexander, but he hadn't celebrated a birthday without Hercules or Lafayette since he was nineteen.

"It's no big deal; I wasn't planning on doing anything special this year. Me and Alex were probably just gonna watch a movie and eat a whole sheet cake from the convenience store." John tried to look at Alexander though their current position made it a bit difficult, "Unless you're too busy and have something to do that day."

"Well, I _am_ going to be busy that day." Alexander said as he pushed himself off the back of the couch and stood up straight. The side of John's face and the crook of his neck was suddenly uncomfortably cool.

"Oh. Yeah. I mean, that makes sense."

"Jack," Hercules said.

John looked back at his computer. Hercules was grinning. So was Lafayette.

John frowned. "What? Why are y'all looking at me like that?" He felt the couch sink as Alexander sat down on the cushions next to him.

"I've talked to my supervisor about it—" Hercules started.

"I already bought my ticket—" Lafayette said.

Suddenly, it clicked in John's head. He looked over at Alexander, who was giving him the same shit eating grin as Hercules and Lafayette.

"Oh, holy shit." John looked back at his laptop. "Are you guys coming home for my birthday?" The excited nods from both Hercules and Lafayette made John tear up. "Holy shit."

Alexander laughed. "You said that already."

"Ah, don't cry!" Lafayette looked a bit apologetic which was absolutely ridiculous because this was the best news John had heard all week.

"I'm not crying," John said.

Hercules laughed and John knew that if he were here—which he apparently was going to be in a few weeks holy shit—he would loop his arm around John's neck and pull him into a hug.

"He's totally crying," Hercules said.

John was adamant that he was not totally crying. A little misty-eyed, yeah sure, but he was most definitely not crying.

Alexander handed him the box of tissues that they kept on the coffee table in the event of a stray tearjerker foreign film or a _Steel Magnolias_ rewatch. "Okay, now they can only stay for the weekend, but we figured there were a couple of things you guys wanted to do around town while they're here."

"It honestly doesn't matter," John said. "We could take a fucking group nap together for two days and I'd be set."

"Man, we should leave town more often if this is how he's gonna act, huh, Lafayette?"

"I must admit I do enjoy being missed this much."

"God, y'all need to shut up and hurry up and get here already."

After they said their goodbyes and John hung up, he sat on the couch and basked in the afterglow of the good news. After a few minutes he realized that Alexander was still sitting next to him. Embarrassed at being seen getting so damn emotional over something that was as trivial as friends coming to visit, John opened his mouth to either explain himself or apologize, he wasn't sure which.

Alexander spoke first. "I'm glad you're back to your normal self again."

John faltered. He frowned. "What?"

Looking down at his lap, Alexander watched his fidgeting fingers. "You were kind of super grumpy there for a while and I got the feeling that it was my fault."

"Oh." Well now didn't John feel like a colossal jerk for his behavior these past few weeks? "Oh shit, no, I just haven't been processing my stress super well. Yeah, you're a pain in the ass, but I knew that going in. Sorry for being a Debbie Downer."

Alexander shrugged. "Sorry for being a pain in the ass."

John laughed. "No you're not," he said.

Alexander smiled that bright smile of his. "Yeah. You're right."


End file.
